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THE YORK LIBRARY 



POETRY AND TRUTH 

! FROM MY OWN LIFE 



VOL. I 



DpOETRYandTRUTH 

FROM MY OWN LIFE 



BY 



J. W. VON GOETHE 



g^: 



A REVISE 



ksrpBDtJEt 



MINnL SiTBKtjWl^llITH 



ION BY as 



! 



WITH AN INTR0DU(?tT<Wll5lD BIBLIOGRAPHY 



BY 



KARL BREUL, M.A., Litt.D., Ph.D. 



VOL. L 



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LONDON 

GEORGE BELL & SONS 

1908 




Kfrj:.?-) CO'.L"E LI3:!ARY 

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psofLC.ci I ;m./,i,j 5,ilv:„s white 

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HARVARD 

[UNIVERSITY] 

LIBRARY 

AUG 31 1973 



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PRINTED BY WILLIAM CLOWES AND SONS, LIMITED, LONDON AND BBCCLES. 



TRANSLATOR'S PREFACE 

The present translation is based on the well-known version 
by John Oxenford and the Rev. A. J. W. Morrison, which 
was originally published in 1849. '^'^^ editions of Dichttmg 
U7td Wahrheit which have been mainly used in making the 
revision are HeinemamUs edition of Goethes Werke, vols. 
13 and 14, and CoUds Jtibilimms Ausgabe^ with notes by 
Richard M. Meyer. The Clarendon Press edition of the 
first four books, with notes by C. A. Buchheim, has also 
been found useful. 

If the revised translation is compared with that on which 
it is basedj it will be found that scarcely a sentence has been 
left unchanged. The result is, perhaps, not as finished a 
piece of English as a new translation might have been, but 
it is hoped that at least an accurate rendering of the 
original has been given. 

In making the revision I have received much assistance 
from my friend Miss A. R. Piggott. 

M. S. S. 

Newnham College, Cambridge, 
October i 1907. 



CONTENTS 



INTRODUCTION. By Karl Breul . . . . ix 
BIBLIOGRAPHY. By Karl Breul . . . . xxv 
AUTHOR'S PREFACE xxxv 

PART I. 

BOOK 

I. Childhood— The City of Frankfort (1749-1755) i 

II. The New Paris— Frankfort Citizens (1756- 1758) 34 

'TI. Occupation of Frankfort by the French (1759- 

1762) .68 

W. Studies— The Bible— Frankfort Churches (1762- 

1765) 97 

V. Gretchen— Coronation Ceremonies (i 762-1 765) . 143 

PART II. 

VI. Illness and Recovery— Leipzig (1762- 1765) . .191 

VII. Leipzig {contintied) — German Literature (1765- 

1768) 229 

VIII. Art— Dresden— Return from Leipzig (i 768-1770) 276 

IX. Strasburg (1770) 3161 

X. Strasburg {continued) — Herder— Tour in Alsace 

AND Lorraine— Frederica (1770) . . -355 

VOL. I. vii b 



INTRODUCTION. 

By KARL BREUL, M.A., Litt.D., Ph.D. 

AUes geben die G5tter, die unendlicben, 

Ihren Lieblingen ganz : 

AUe Freudeiii die unendlicben, 

Alle Schmerzen, die unendlicben, ganz. 

Goethe to Auguste von Stolberg (July 17, 1777). 

Goethe's Dichtung und Wahrheit, a carefully revised trans- 
lation of which is now offered to the English public, is the 
greatest German autobiography. In it we have an authori- 
tative record of Goethe's development as an artist during the 
first twenty- six years of his life ; it furnishes us with a model of 
the philosophic treatment of biography, and at the same time 
is a great work of art. A knowledge of Goethe's life is indis- 
pensable for a thorough understanding of his works. In 'Poetry 
and Truth' he undertook, on the threshold of old age, the 
task of showing his friends the development of his own genius 
— ^and, by looking upon his own case as typical, of genius 
generally. In this autobiography the greatest poetic genius of 
Germany undertook to explain himself to the world and to 
point out the manifold influences which had made him what 
he was. 

Origin, 

We are particularly well informed about the origin of 
* Poetry and Truth.' Its growth can be followed, sometimes 
day by day, in Goethe's diaries as they are published in the 
Weimar edition.^^ ^g learn from them that he worked at this 
sketch of his early life for more than twenty-four years with 



X INTRODUCTION 

many interruptions and one great pause of seventeen years 
(1813-1830). 

Goethe took an early interest in autobiographies, and this 
interest remained undiminished during his whole life. His en- 
thusiasm in reading, in 1771, the autobiography of the robber- 
knight Goetz von Berlichingen, led him to write his first famous 
drama. In 1774 he studied with absorbing interest the touching 
autobiography of his Strassburg friend Jung-Stilling, and pub- 
lished it himself in 1777. He was delighted with * Anton 
Reiser,' the interesting autobiography of his Italian friend 
Moritz, which appeared between 1785 and 1790. He took a 
special interest in the autobiography of the great Italian artist 
Benvenuto Cellini, which (in 1796) he translated and annotated 
himself for Schiller's 'Horen.' In 1805 he contributed a 
valuable chapter on *Winckelmann und sein Jahrhundert' to 
the volume of Winckelmann's letters, in which he expresses his 
high conception of the task of the biographer, whose aim should 
be to make the figure of his hero stand out from the carefully 
sketched background of his own times, ideas which evidently 
influenced him in planning the narrative of his own life. And 
when, after the death of his old Italian friend, the painter Philip 
Hackert, he endeavoured to carry out his dying request, and 
was busy editing his papers and making up from them an 
account of his life (published in 181 1), he expressed his 
resolve to do for himself what hitherto he had only done for 
others. 

But a stronger impulse than his work on Hackert's memoirs 
was given to Goethe by Cotta's publication of the first edition 
of his collected works. Between 1806 and 1808 twelve volumes 
were brought out, to which, in 18 10, a thirteenth supplementary 
volume was added. Thus in i8o8 Goethe saw before him the 
chief productions of his life, arranged in artistic but not 
chronological order — * fragments,' as he called them, *of a 
great confession.' But it was clear that these fragments could 
not be understood and rightly appreciated by the general 
reader without some explanations as to their personal and 
literary origin. Thus it was natural that Goethe, who, after 
the death of Schiller (1805) and the disruption of old Germany 
(1806), had begun to look upon himself and his works histori- 
cally and almost impartially, should conceive the idea of 



INTRODUCTION XI 

furnishing the necessary explanations of his works and of supple- 
menting them by an account of his life, and so completing the 
great confession. The term * confession,' which Goethe at this 
time is so fond of applying to his writings, was obviously 
suggested by the titles of the two greatest autobiographical 
works the world had seen before his own — the confessions of 
St. Augustine and the confessions of Jean Jacques Rousseau. 
The latter work had produced a great impression on Goethe, 
and he was influenced by it in more ways than one. An in- 
teresting comparison of the three great autobiographies appears 
in Meyer's * Life of Goethe ' (p. 593).** 

The idea of writing his autobiography was conceived by 
Goethe at Karlsbad on August 27, 1808. This is the date 
given by Riemer in his diary, but in his ' Mittheilungen ' ^^ he 
mentions August 28, Goethe's birthday, as the day on which he 
resolved * seine Confessionen zu schreiben.' This resolution 
could not, however, be immediately carried out, as two works 
then on hand, viz. the novel *Die Wahlverwandtschaften ' 
(1809) and the treatise on * Die Farbenlehre ' (1810), had first to 
be finished, and also the autobiographical papers of his friend 
Philipp Hackert had to be prepared for press (181 1). Never- 
theless, after the completion of his sixtieth year, Goethe began 
on October 11, 1809, to pen a first 'Schema einer Biographic,' 
at which he worked occasionally until May, 18 10. It is now 
easily accessible in the Weimar edition (xxvi. 349-64).^ This 
sketch became the basis of all his future autobiographical work. 
It was followed in course of time by other outlines and drafts, 
very varied in extent and value, which can now be con- 
sulted in the Weimar edition, and have recently been critically 
examined and discussed by Alt.'^ At the same time Goethe 
began to prepare himself for his task by re-reading old letters, 
consulting his own books, borrowing books from the Ducal 
Library, and obtaining information from various personal 
friends. In January, 181 r, he was at last able to give more 
time to his work, and before April he had written a first rough 
sketch of his life as far as his student days at Strassburg. As 
early as February 12 he began to read some finished portions 
to a circle of intimate friends. Between April, 181 1, and January, 
1814, he completed the first three parts (Books 1-15) as we 
now have them, giving three years entirely to this work, his 



XU INTRODUCTION 

great gift to his nation, then just entering on its life and death 
struggle with Napoleon. 

Goethe did not at first write his sketches in strict chrono- 
logical order, but worked as the spirit moved him. He first 
selected certain chapters for treatment, then added others, then 
made a survey of what had been done and of what remained to 
be written, bridged over gaps, transposed or cut out certain por- 
tions, constructed with the greatest care appropriate beginnings, 
endings, and transitions, and finally assigned definite portions 
to definite books, particular care being taken to provide for 
each book a suitable beginning and an effective ending, and 
to give it an individuality of its own. It is interesting to 
observe, from a comparison of the finished work with the original 
sketches, how up to the last Goethe took care to file away 
all rough edges in character-drawing and to harmonize any 
discordant sections. A few slight inconsistencies resulting from 
this method of work have nevertheless remained, but they are 
barely noticeable. Between the years 1811 and 181 3 Goethe 
finished the first fifteen books, of which Part I. (1-5) was 
published in 181 1, Part II. (6-10) in 1812, Part III. (11-15), 
which was delayed on account of the war, in 18 14. After this 
came a long pause. Part IV. (16-20), the last that we possess, 
stands apart from the first three. It is true that some portions 
of it were written in 181 2 and 18 13, but the work was not 
definitely resumed till 1830, and finished in October, 1831. 
Goethe died in March, 1832, and Part IV. was published 
by his secretary Eckermann in 1833 among the posthumous 
works. Part III. had carried the story of Goethe's youth 
down to May, 1774, when Goethe had finished Werther and 
Clavigo. Part IV. contains his account of the last year 
and a half at Frankfort, includes his first Swiss journey, and 
ends with his resolve to go to Weimar in the late autumn of 
1775. This part caused Goethe greater difficulties than the 
preceding ones. Most of the people mentioned in the earlier 
portions were dead when Parts I.-III. were published ; but not 
a few persons who play an important part in the Concluding 
books, such as Lili (the name given to \i\s fianc^e^ the charming 
Elisabeth Schoenemann), Karl August, and others, were still 
living, and this fact rendered it impossible for Goethe to speak 
'"^ them with the same freedom as in the case of Friederike, 



INTRODUCTION XIU 

Merck, Herder, and others. Thus it happened that — ^like the 
later portions of Faust and Wilhelm Meister — the concluding 
books (16-20) making up Part IV. were continued at long 
intervals (between 18 12 and 1831), and were left at the poet's 
death without the last finishing touches. 

At first Goethe seems to have intended to carry his auto- 
biography down to the year 1809, when he was sixty years of 
age. But this idea, if he ever entertained it seriously, was 
no doubt soon abandoned. Only the very first 'Schema* of 
1809 extends from 1742 to 1809. But for many years Goethe 
proposed to carry on the story of his life till September, 1 786, 
when he set out on his Italian travels, in which case the account of 
his life would have been continued naturally by his ' Italienische 
Reise.'^^ As late as March i, 1826, Goethe announced his 
intention of writing two more parts of ' Poetry and Truth ' follow- 
ing the first three already published, and of these the latter 
(Part V.) would have contained the account of his first ten years 
at Weimar. Unfortunately for us this plan was not carried out, 
and so there remains a great gap in Goethe's autobiographical 
confessions between the end of 'Poetry and Truth ' (1775) and 
the beginning of his ' Italian Journey' (1786). 

Thus it is clear that * Poetry and Truth ' cannot rightly be 
called ' Goethe's autobiography,' as it gives an account of only 
a small portion of his long life, of twenty-six out of eighty-two 
years, but should be called 'the story of Goethe's early life,' 
being the account of the development of the youthful artist. 



Contents of ' Poetry and Truth.' 

The twenty books of * Poetry and Truth ' contain a sketch 
of Goethe's outward life between 1749 ^"^^ '775> ^^ period 
that is usually called ' Der junge Goethe ' — they bring vividly 
before our eyes the boy, the youth, and the beginnings of the 
man. They also contain a full and trustworthy account of his 
development as a poet. We are made acquainted with his 
likes and dislikes, with his faults and his foibles ; nothing is 
concealed from the reader, and the various books are rich in 
wise maxims and weighty general observations. We have the 
picture of a sunny and stormy youth drawn by a mature and 
wise man. 



XIV INTRODUCTION 

His family ^ and relatives ^ are carefully described — though 
too little is said of Goethe's charming mother.^^ This is due to 
the fact that he originally intended to devote a special chapter 
to her *Aristeia.* The various love episodes are especially 
successful — a delightful gallery of charming girls is painted 
by the poet who has given us Gretchen and Klarchen, Iphigenie 
and Dorothea. In this series we can observe a certain 
gradation — Gretchen, Annchen (now usually called Katchen), 
Friederike, Lotte, Lili,^^ are all attractive, but each successive 
girl is somewhat superior in education and social status to 
the preceding one. Lotte Buff is treated very briefly on 
account of the extraordinary curiosity shown by the German 
public about the heroine of Werther, while the portions dealing 
fully with the idyll of Sesenheim and the charming Friederike 
Brion are particularly attractive. No less interesting is the 
account given of some of the places. Goethe's native town, 
Frankfurt,^ the old free city where the Emperor was crowned, 
is treated with special care and in great detail ; it still appears 
medieval to a great extent ; Leipzig 3o-3i is elegant and pro- 
gressive, * ein klein Paris,' as he calls it in Faust ; while 
Strassburg ^~^ figures as a French university at which Goethe 
and his friends rarely realized the fact that they were not in 
Germany. In spite of belonging to France, Strassburg was up 
to the first French revolution still essentially German. The work 
contains a splendid gallery of interesting sketches of friends ^ 
and contemporaries ; men like Oeser, Herder, Lenz, Merck, 
Jacobi, Lavater, Basedow, and others, are graphically described. 
Throughout the whole of the work we are given a valuable 
series of literary portraits drawn by the patriarch of Weimar, 
with his wonderful insight, experience, and knowledge of men 
and events. These portraits are invaluable to students of 
literature, they are true and just ; but it is obvious that in his 
youth Goethe could never have seen the men quite in that 
light in which the sage on the banks of the Ilm has brought them 
before us. Great literary events are not neglected ; the work 
contains (especially in books 7 and 10) a masterly sketch of the 
German lit^ature of the time, the result of the widest possible 
outlook, but in every detail based on most careful study. 
Foreign literatures are not lost sight of, and in particular the 
various English, French and classical influences on his poetry 



INTRODUCTION XV 

are carefully traced. Nor are the other arts, such as paintings 
etching, sculpture, and architecture, neglected by him. 

Finally, * Poetry and Truth ' contains the genesis of many 
works of Goethe's youth, and accounts of others that were planned 
but not written, or that were incomplete and still unpublished, or 
lost, in the years i8i 1-1813. The lyrics of the so-called Leipzig 
Song Book,'* the Sesenheim and Frankfurt love-songs, the poems 
in the old German style of Hans Sachs and in the free metres 
inspired by the study of the Pindaric odes, the collection and 
imitation of popular songs and ballads,"^ are fully treated. With 
regard to prose fiction, a full account is given of the genesis of 
Werther,^~38 and of Goethe's plans in connection with an epic 
the hero of which was to be *Der ewige Jude' (Der junge 
Goethe, iii.).^* Among his early dramas detailed treatment is 
accorded to ' Goetz von Berlichingen,' ' Clavigo,' and * Egmont,' 
and minor or unfinished plays such as 'Satyros,' ^Mahomed,' 
and * Prometheus.' Of ' Faust' only a short account of the first 
beginnings is given, and the characteristic * Stella,' * a play for 
lovers,' as Goethe called it in his youth, is, for an obvious reason, 
passed over altogether. Among his critical writings some 
reviews for the ^ Frankfurter gelehrte Anzeigen ' ^^ are mentioned. 

^Poetry and Truth^ as a reliable authority for Goethe's 
early life, 

Goethe gave to his work the title * Aus meinem Leben : 
Dichtung und Wahrheit.' By the first word {aus) he indicates 
that he intends to give such 'selected portions' from his life 
as seemed to his retrospective glance to be of importance 
for his development as a poet. Of this higher life of his he 
no doubt remembered every stage, and was able to form a right 
estimate of the importance of the surroundings in which his 
early life was passed, and the various influences which helped to 
shape his poetic genius till, as the author of 'Goetz' and 
' Werther,' he became, at the age of 25, the greatest writer of 
his nation and of his time. His development as an artist had 
reached a certain completion at the end of 1775,"^' while the 
subsequent decade at Weimar, the years between 1776 and 
1786, did really more for the man than for the author. With 
his visit to Italy a new stage of development began for Goethe, 



xvi INTRODUCTION 

and for this reason he intended to call his Italian journey, 

* From my Life — Second Part.' 

The sub-title, * Dichtung und Wahrheit/^^ was a transposition, 
for euphonic reasons (in order to avoid the clashing of a final 
and an initial d\ of * Wahrheit und Dichtung,' which was the 
title of a weekly paper that was at that time published at Jena 
for the entertainment of the town and country. The adoption 
of this sub-title had been suggested to Goethe by his secretary 
Riemer as giving a suitable description of the nature of the 
proposed 'confessions.' In all the editions published during 
Goethe's lifetime, and also in the posthumous issue of Part IV. 
(^833)> the original title * Dichtung und Wahrheit' was adhered 
to. In the later editions, brought out by Goethe's secretaries 
Riemer and Eckermann, the original title was, however, 
changed to * Wahrheit und Dichtung,' partly, it seems, in 
order to emphasize the fact that the account was in all essential 
parts based upon actual truth ; partly, perhaps, in order to avoid 
the sequence of two unaccented syllables containing the dull 
vowel u. As a matter of fact, Goethe himself occasionally used 
the form * Wahrheit und Dichtung' in other writings. Mr. 
Oxenford's translation into English ^^ has likewise * Truth and 
Poetry.' All modern German editions, ^"^ beginning with 
Loeper's,^ have, however, rightly re-instated Goethe's own 
title,^^ and this amended title is also given, for the first time 
in English, in the present revised rendering of Goethe's work. 

What does * Poetry and Truth ' signify ? By using this title 
Goethe has expressly admitted that the attainment of truth in 
the ordinary sense of the word or accuracy was not his sole and 
not even his principal object in writing. He was anxious to 
give more than the bare matter-of-fact truth which the mere 
chronicler of facts conscientiously strives after. His * Poetry ' 
is really more true than the commonplace reality that never 
rises above a mere chronological enumeration of occurrences. 
Thus * Poetry and Truth ' means * Truth artistically represented 
and looked at from a higher point of view,' especially with 
regard to his own artistic development. The element of 
' Poetry ' in this sense imparts to ' Truth ' its higher scientific 
character, and the composition of * Poetry and Truth ' in this 
sense was a great philosophical achievement. By elevating his 

* confessions ' to this high level Goethe proved himself to be 



INTRODUCTION Xvil 

an historian of the highest order. The work is undoubtedly a 
very reliable source of information with regard to Goethe's life 
and times. We have abundant evidence that he was most careful 
as to fects — even in the case of minor details — and that he took 
great pains to state everything correctly. At all events there is 
no doubt that he always meant to be truthful, and he certainly 
never stooped to self-flattery or to embellishing his own thoughts 
and actions. 

As far back as January, 1797, Schiller had asked Goethe in 
a letter for a chronological table of his writings. In the prefixed 
fictitious 'letter by a friend' (p. xxxv.), which, according to 
Goethe's diary, was composed by himself on September 8, 181 1, 
a similar request is made by the imaginary friend, a request that 
very probably had been addressed to Goethe by more than one 
of his admirers. In the case of this particular letter it is clear 
that, although in reality it was not addressed to Goethe in this 
form, it yet is typical and thus not at variance with truth in the 
highest sense. 

The material at Goethe's disposal when he began to write 
his memoirs was very insufficient (see Alt ^), and most of the 
incidents narrated had to be supplied from his own excellent 
memory. In 18 10, the facts of the sexagenarian writer's early life 
were separated from him by a lapse of 35 to 55 years. In 1797 
he had, unfortunately for the biography, burned all the letters 
that had so far been addressed to him, and he possessed in 181 1 
neither the originals nor copies of most of the letters written by 
him to others. He had received back his Leipzig letters to Cornelia 
and Behrisch (Goethe- Jahrbuch, VI I.),^ but he made little use 
of them. The death of his mother (in 1808) was a great loss for 
the early books — her vivid accounts of his boyhood would have 
been a source of information of the greatest importance. Instead 
of these, he only had Bettina Brentano's letters," which contained 
stories of his childhood as Bettina had heard them from his 
mother. On October 25, 18 10, he had asked this young friend 
for her notes, and gives as his reason : * Ich will Dir nemlich 
bekennen, dass ich im BegrifF bin meine Bekenntnisse zu 
schreiben, daraus mag nun ein Roman oder eine Geschichte 
warden. ..." A few friends and relatives, such as his old 
aunt Melber, young Schlosser, Knebel, Jacobi, and others, sent 
him contributions, but even these could not be fully utilized, and 



xvni INTRODUC nON 

certain matters he had to treat discreetly, or to dismiss with a few 
words, in order to avoid giving offence. He also used a large 
number of printed sources — as has been shown by Duntzer,^'"**^* 
Loeper,2 and Alt ^ — looked through old books and magazines 
dating from his youth, and verified the statements as far as he 
could. It is difficult to realize what an enormous amount of hard 
work and conscientious study is hidden under the easy flow of 
the interesting narrative. Everything that had proved of im- 
portance for his development as an artist was singled out for 
specially careful treatment. On the other hand, he had no wish 
to satisfy mere indiscreet curiosity, as appears in his purposely 
meagre account of Werther's Lotte. 

There are abundant means at our disposal of supplementing 
or correcting the accounts given in * Poetry and Truth.' We 
now possess many of Goethe's early letters and works which 
had been lost for a time and have only come to light since 
his death. Many of them are easily accessible in the three 
volumes of * Der junge Goethe,' ** which form a delightful 
illustration of * Poetry and Truth.' The letters are printed 
more critically in the great Weimar edition.^^"^* Goethe's 
account of Wilhelm Meister's early life (in the * Lehrjahre ') 
should also be compared with these early records. Beside 
Goethe's own works, letters ^"^^ and conversations,*^ ^^ have 
at our disposal numerous letters and utterances of Goethe's con- 
temporaries, and finally research in archives and libraries has 
brought to light a certain amount of more or less important 
information. The discovery of the real name of the * Konigs- 
leutnant' 2^— who was chosen by K. Gutzkowas the hero of a 
play in memory of young Goethe — is a good instance. We 
should also not forget Jacobi's novel * Eduard Allwill's Papiere ' 
(1775), the hero of which presents a picture of Goethe as he 
appeared to his enthusiastic friend (Jacobi) in 1774, while in 
Jung-Stilling's life we have a portrait of the Strassburg Goethe 
of 1770. 

It is only natural that now (in 1907), after a lapse of nearly a 
hundred years, we should have much more reliable material to 
draw upon than Goethe had when he wrote his memoirs. It is 
easy to know a great deal more about facts, dates, and the 
chronological order of events than Goethe himself could know. 
Much has been published in the way both of facts and 



INTRODUCTION XIX 

criticism by zealous Goethe students,^*-^^ ^nd all available in- 
formation has been carefully utilised in the latest and best Goethe 
biographies,*^'^ which are therefore as reliable as such works 
can possibly be. They reveal a number of discrepancies when 
earlier lives, and among them * Dichtung und Wahrheit,' are 
compared with them. But all these minor discrepancies do not 
appreciably detract from the truth of * Dichtung und Wahrheit ' j 
its real value is not in the least diminished by slight deviations 
— mostly unintentional — from actual fact or chronology. On 
the contrary, the more thoroughly one investigates the auto- 
biographical sources and examines the new facts that are being 
gradually brought to light by Goethe scholars, the more one is 
constrained to admire the poet's wonderful memory, the truth- 
fulness of his statements, and the correctness of his judgments 
concerning his own early life and literary development. 



* Poetry and Truth ' as a work of art, 

Goethe's * Poetry and Truth' surpasses all his other auto- 
biographical writings as a work of art. Especially Parts I.-III. 
show in every book the great artist who came to this work fresh 
from the completion of his last great novel, *Die Wahlver* 
wandtschaften.' The language ranks with the best specimens 
of Goethe's prose. Some portions remind us of the old 
Chronicles, in particular early parts of the work ; others, 
especially the charming love episodes, are written in the 
exquisite manner of the experienced novelist. The language is 
easy and fluent, nowhere monotonous, the sentences beautifully 
balanced and rounded off, and the variety of style always in 
accordance with the subject treated. 

By the artistic arrangement of the facts of his life Goethe 
intended in the first three parts (Books 1-15) to represent his 
intellectual and poetic development as analogous to that of a 
plant, and so make it appear perfectly organic, in feet typical. 
In the draft of a Preface to Parts I.-III. which was subsequently 
suppressed he describes the chief characteristics of these parts 
in the following way : * In dem ersten [Bande von " Dichtung und 
Wahrheit"] sollte das Kind nach alien Seiten zarte Wurzeln 
treiben und nur wenig Keimblatter entwickeln. Im zweyten der 



XX INTRODUCTION 

Knabe mit lebhafterem Griin stufenweis mannigfaltiger gebil- 
dete Zweige treiben, und dieser belebte Stengel sollte nun im 
dritten Beete ahren- und rispenweis zur Bliite hineilen und den 
hoffnungsvoUen J tingling darstellen ' (Weimar ed., xxviii. 356). I n 
this way the laws of causation and organic development was to 
be shown in its application to genius and to himself. In ' Poetry 
and Truth' Goethe intended to give not merely a faithful account 
of the development of his own genius, but he wished at the same 
time to paint in bold outlines a comprehensive picture of the 
peculiar conditions of the time of his youth, the time of the 
ancien rSgime^ which was left undisturbed, or but slightly stirred, 
by the first faint and distant rumblings of the approaching storm 
of the French Revolution — the time of the 'Aufklarung,' of the 
enlightened autocrats Frederick 1 1, and Joseph II., and of writers 
such as Lessing, Winckelmann, Wieland, and young Herder. 
He was anxious to show how as a man and as an artist he was 
affected by the times, and conversely what effect his own early 
work had on his own times. Thus * Poetry and Truth * brings 
before us an account masterly in conception and artistic in 
execution, by the greatest German writer and at the same 
time one of the greatest men of his time, drawn upon a care- 
fully elaborated background that truthfully reflected the political, 
social, religious, and artistic conditions of Germany in the 
second half of the eighteenth century. All great autobiographies 
that had appeared before Goethe's had depicted merely the 
personal development of the writer * ; Goethe is the only great 
author who attempted to show the individual in his relation to 
the universal, and thus not merely to narrate, but to understand 
and explain his development from a philosophic and scientific 
point of view. This task is obviously the greater one and far 
more difficult of achievement ; by its higher aim * Poetry and 
Truth ' rises above mere reality to higher and more vital truth. 
Hence in * Poetry and Truth ' we have not merely * Memoirs,' 
but, what is far more valuable, a great work of art giving a 
historical description of the development of genius. As in a 
Greek statue, the merely accidental is disregarded and the 
typical worked out, by which method the structure of the whole 
becomes simpler, nobler, and more artistic. The fourth part of 

* Wordsworth's ' Prelude,' though written in 1805, was not published till 
1850. 



INTRODUCTION XXI 

* Poetry and Truth,' with its unfinished arrangement of certain 
portions of the material (part of which had been written in the 
poet's best years), may be compared with portions of the second 
part of * Faust' and of the second part of *Wilhelm Meister' 
C Wilhelm Meister's Wanderjahre '), in which likewise the last 
finishing touches are wanting. 

The best appreciations of * Poetry and Truth' are those 
by Loeper,2 Grimm,*^ Heinemann,^ Meyer,* '"* *8 ^nd Roethe.^s 
Among the points characteristic of Goethe's techniqtu in 

* Poetry and Truth ' the following call for special mention : the 
forecast of future events in earlier books, the first introduction 
of places and things in the moment when they become of 
importance for the hero, the skilful use made of contrasting 
figures (Liscow and Rabener, Lavater and Basedow, etc.). As 
a work of art * Poetry and Truth ' ranks far above the auto- 
biography of any modem German author such as Gutzkow, 
Freytag, Ebers, Spielhagen, and others. 

Reception by contemporaries. 

The reception of his work by his contemporaries was not 
at first what Goethe had hoped and was entitled to expect. 
Outside a small circle of intimate friends and intelligent readers 
its great superiority to all other German memoirs was not im- 
mediately recognized. Religious and moral considerations stood 
in the way of its true appreciation in Germany,"* and also in 
England.^2 In the latter country a very unfair criticism appeared 
in the ^Edinburgh Review' (1816), but it was subsequently 
contradicted in the 'Westminster Review' (1824) and by 
Thomas Carlyle. 

* Poetry and Truth ' and Goethe's other autobiographical 

writings, 

* Dichtung und Wahrheit ' is the most important among 
Goethe's numerous autobiographical writings which either con- 
tinue or supplement it. In their entirety the autobiographical 
works form an important portion of Goethe's collected writings. 
The chief of them are his * Annals ' {Tag- und Jahreshefte)^^ his 

* Italian Jouriiey ' and his several * Swiss Journeys,' his * Cam- 
paign in France,' and his * Siege of Mainz.' "® In his book on 



XXIl INTRODUCTION 

the * Theory of Colours/ the production of which immediately 
preceded * Poetry and Truth,' he gave an account of his study 
of Botany. But none of these interesting supplementary 
accounts, not even his famous * Travels in Italy,' are as brilliant 
and as artistic as ' Poetry and Truth.* A parallel to some of 
the early books of ' Poetry and Truth ' may be seen in the 
early portions of * Wilhelm Meister's Years of Apprenticeship ' 
(translated by Carlyle), where Goethe's own youth is clearly 
reflected in much that we learn about Wilhelm's early life and 
his artistic and literary interests. In all the autobiographical 
writings of Goethe we notice the same tendency, viz. to collect 
for himself and to supply for his friends materials for an 
explanation of the development of bis genius. His memoirs, 
annals, and accounts of travels are either elaborated from short 
sketches or worked out from diaries or from letters, and the 
difference in their artistic form is due to their different origin. 



Editions and Illustrations. 

The best German and English editions with notes or illus- 
trations have been enumerated in the Bibliography.^"" We 
possess authentic portraits of almost every important person 
mentioned in * Poetry and Truth ' except of Gretchen and; 
perhaps, of Friederike Brion. All the more important portraits 
are reproduced in Wiilker's excellent illustrated edition.^ Spme 
fine, but imaginary, sketches of women who were loved by 
Goethe are contained in Wilhelm Kaulbach's * Goethe Gallerie ' 
(with text by Friedrich Spielhagen).*® A splendid statue of 
young Goethe — the only one of the kind — was erected at 
Strassburg in 1904. It is now proposed to erect a statue of the 
author of * Werther ' in Wetzlar. The best places for a detailed 
study of * Poetry and Truth,' where original manuscripts, 
sketches, busts, portraits, and old printed books< can be seen 
and freely consulted, are Weimar (Goethe-Schiller Archiv, 
Goethe National-Museum, Grand Ducal Library), Frankfurt- 
on-the-Main (Library of the * Freies Deutsches Hochstift' in the 
Goethe house), Leipzig (University Library * Hirzel Collection '), 
and Hanover (Kestner Museum). 



INTRODUCTIO N XXlll 



Translations, 

Like the first translation of * Werther,' which was not made 
from the German original but from a French translation of it 
(see Brandl in the Goethe-Jahrbuch, iii.), the earliest translation 
of * Dichtung und Wahrheit' into English ^^ is a very poor 
rendering of the French translation by M. Aubert de VitryJ^ 
Mistakes corrected by Vitry at the end of his translation were 
left uncorrected by the careless and ignorant English translator. 
The chief English and American translations have been 
enumerated and briefly discussed in the Bibliography. ^'^~*^ 
The translation usually read in England is that by John Oxen- 
ford and the Rev. A. J. Morrison,*^ the first half (books i-io) 
—of-which was based on an anonymous American version. The 
translation given in the following pages, for which Miss Minna 
Steele Smith, head lecturer in modern languages at Newnham 
College, Cambridge, is responsible, is based on Mr. Oxenford's 
rendering ; but the scholarly translator has throughout referred 
to the latest German editions and commentaries, and has im- 
proved the English text, not merely in style, but in clearness 
and correctness. 

The present necessarily brief introduction will, it is hoped, 
be found to contain the answers to all the legitimate questions 
which a serious student of * Poetry and Truth ' will be anxious 
to have solved. The detailed bibliography following this intro- 
duction, although it is intentionally far from being complete, 
I will not only serve to substantiate any statement made in the 
Introduction, but will at the same time be a safe first guide for 
any intending Goethe student till he has learned to find his 
way in the maze of literature that has gradually grown up round 
Goethe's life and work. The legitimate desire for direction that 
is so often felt by the solitary student and the youthful scholar 
is frequently neglected in Introductions prefixed to translations 
of masterpieces in foreign languages. The chief aim has been 
to give the most recent literature — for all more detailed infon|ia- 
tion as to older books of reference students should consult 
Goedeke^ and the other bibliographical aids enumerated in 
the Bibliography.^^^"^^ For new publications reference should be 
made to the annual bibliographies of the * Goethe-Jahrbuch ' ^ 
VOL. I. c 

N 



XXIV INTRODUCTION 

and the * Jahresberichte fur Neuere Deutsche Litteratur- 
geschichte/ ^ 

Only the fuller and more recent accounts of Goethe's life 
could be mentioned in the present Introduction ; for this 
reason, the works of Lewes, Schafer, Sime, Atkins, and others 
are not included under D in the Bibliography. 

Goethe's * Dichtung und Wahrheit ' and Goethe's * Faust ' * 
are both confessions of the poet — Goethe, like his Faust, ** strove 
forward with unswerving will," and to a ripe old age worked 
unceasingly for the spiritual enlightenment and elevation of his 
fellow-men. Most fitly may we apply to him and to his own 
narrative of his early life the concluding lines of his poem, 
* Kiinstlers Apotheose' (Cotta, Jub. ed., vii. 159) — 

' ' Drum lebt er auch nach seinem Tode fort 
Und ist so wirksam als er lebte, 
Die gute Tat, das schone Wort, 
Es strebt unsterblich, wie er sterblich strebte." 

KARL BREUL. 
Cambridge, May 9, 1907. 

* A translation of both parts of Goethe's ' Faust,* by the late Miss A. 
Swanwick, with introduction and bibliography by Karl Breul, forms a 
volume of the ' York Library.' It was published in 1905. 



BIBLIOGRAPHY. 
A.— Editions. 

A,— Without Notes. 

1. Dichtungund Wahrheit. The best critical edition of the text, with 

all the various readings, plans, sketches, paralipomena, but no 
notes, is the following: Goethes Werke. Kritische Ausgabe. 
[Sophienausgabe.] Weimar. 4 parts. Vols. 26-29. 1889- 
189 1. Editor : Jakob Baechtold, with the assistance of G. v. 
Loeper. See No. 2. [The usual German abbreviation is D, WJ\ 

B, — With Introductions and Notes. 

2. Dichtung und Wahrheit. Goethes Werke. Nach den vorziiglichsten 

Quellen revidierte Ausgabe. Zwanzigster Teil. Mit Einleitung 
und Anmerkungen von G{ustav) von Loeper, Berlin : G. Hempel. 
[1874-77.] 4 parts in 2 volumes. 

3. Wahrheit und Dichtung^ ed. Heinrich Diintzery with introduction 

and notes in Kiirschner*s * Deutsche National- Litteratur.' Vols. 
98-101. (Goethes Werke, 17-20.) Stuttgart. No year [1895 ?]. 
With notes and illustrations. 

4. Dichtung und Wahrheit. Goethes Samtliche Werke. (Cottas) 

Jubilaums-Ausgabe. Vols. 22-25. ^^^ Einleitung und Anmer- 
kungen von Richard M. Meyer, Stuttgart und Berlin. No 
year. 

5. Dichtung und Wahrheit, Unter Mitwirkung mehrerer Fachge- 

lehrter herausgegeben von Prof. Dr. Karl Heinemann. Kritisch 
durchgeschene und erlauterte Ausgabe. Vols. 12 and 13. 
Edited with introduction and notes by the general editor {K, 
Heinemann). I>eipzig und Wien : Bibliographisches Intitut. 
No year [1901]. 

XXV 



XXVI BIBLIOGRAPHY 

6. Dichtung und WahrheiU Illustrierte und kommentierte Ausgabe, 

unter Mitwirkung von Julius Vogel und Julius Zeitler, herausge- 
geben von Richard Wiilker. Leipzig. 1903. The numerous 
illustrations are very fine ; the commentary has not appeared. 

C. — School Editions {German and English), 

7. Dichtung und Wahrheit. German (abbreviated). School editions : 

(l) by W, Nbldecke, 2 small volumes. Bielefeld and Leipzig : 
Velhagen and Klasing. Deutsche Schulausgaben 5 and 6. 
1899-1900. (2) by 0. Kdstner, Leipzig : Teubner. 1907. 

8. Goethe^ s Knabmjahre (1749-61). A selection from the first three 

books of D.W. by W. Wagner and J. W. Cartmell. Cambridge : 
University Press. 1891. [Pitt Press Series.] Original edition 
by Wagner, 1876. 

9. Dichtung und Wahrheit, The first four books, edited, with intro- 

duction and notes, by C. A. Buchheim, Oxford (Clarendon 
Press Series). 1894. 

10. A selection from Books L-X., with notes, is contained in C, A. 

Buchheim's * Deutsche Prosa.* Vol. ii. Goethe's Prosa. 2nd 
ed. London. 1890. Pp. 37-181. 

1 1 . Sesenheinty from Goethe's * Dichtung und Wahrheit.* Edited, with 

introduction and notes, by A. C. O. Huss. Boston, U.S.A. : 
Heath's Modern Language Series. 1889. 



B. — ^Translations into English. 

A, Published in England. 

12. (a) Memoirs of Goethe^ written by himself. 2 vols. London : 
Colburn. 1824. A few notes. At the end biographical notices 
of the principal persons mentioned in the Memoirs. Trans- 
lator's name not given. Only 3 parts (15 books) translated 
(all that had appeared so far in Germany). The English text is 
apparently based on the French translation (in 2 vols.) by M. 
Aubert de Vitry. (Paris. 1823.) See also Baldensperger (No. 
73, under 1696) and Carlyle, Misc. Essays, i. 178 (written in 
1828). 

13' (^) ^^ Auto- Biography of Goethe. Truth and Poetry, From my 
own life. 2 vols. Vol. i. (1848). Vol. ii. (1849). London : 
Bohn's * Standard Library.' Books 1-13 were translated by 
John Oxenford (who for the first ten books made extensive use 
of an American translation published anonymously [by Parke 



BIBLIOGRAPHY XXVU 

Godwin?]; books 14-20 by the Rev. A. J. W. Morrison (who 
also translated Goethe's Letters from Switzerland and Travels in 
Italy). This translation ran through several editions, the last 
being a revised edition in 2 volumes (London, 1 881), in which 
no mention is made of the Rev. A. J. W. Morrison's share in the 
work. A translation of the * Annals,' by Charles Nisbet, was 
added to vol. ii., while the Letters from Switzerland, etc., were 
removed to another volume in Bohn's Series. Some portions of 
the translations were published separately, e.g. * Goethe's Boy- 
hood ' (books 1-9) in Bohn's Shilling Library (London, 1888), 
and * The Early Life of Goethe ' (books I-9) in the * Library of 
Standard Biographies,' vol. ii. London. 1904. In this 
edition a short introduction and some notes were added by 
W. V. Knoblauch. 

14. Kirby {IV. F.), Goethe's * New Paris.' In the * Publications of 

the English Goethe Society.' Vol. v. (1889), pp. 28-42. London ; 
Nutt. 1889. This translation is independent of Oxenford's. It 
is interesting that before the publication (in 1848) of Oxenford's 
translation of the first ten books of D. W. a rendering of this 
very story * The New Paris ' (by Mr. Oxenford ? ) had appeared 
in a collection of * Tales from the German.' London. 1844. 

B. Published in America. 

15. (fl) Memoirs of Goethe^ \iy\i\x£i's^i. Translated. New York. 1844. 

Translator's name not given. In the preface to his translation, 
Mr. Oxenford says that * the American version,' undertaken 
before he made his own, * was not sufficiently faithful.' Oxen- 
ford only refers to the first ten books of the American version 
from which he borrowed many renderings. 

16. (^) Autobiography of Goethe. Translated by Parke Godwin, 

Philadelphia. [See Goedeke, Grundrisz ^IV., p. 710, under 59.] 

17. (tf) Goethe's Autobiography. Books i-ii. New York : Putnams. 

1890. 2 vols. No name of translator given. (See Eugen 
Oswald's List, under Anon., p. 9.) 

C*— Commentaries (without the text), Studies, 
Lectures, Pamphlets, Books of Reference. 

1 8. Goethes Dichtung und Wahrheit, Erlautert von Heinrich DUntzer, 

Leipzig. 1881. [Erlauterungen zu Goethes Werken. Vols. 
34-36.] Compare also Diintzer's Essay in The Goethe- 
Jahrbuch, I. (1880), 140-154. * Die Zuverlassigkeit von Goethes 
Angaben iiber seine eigenen Werke in D. W.' 



XXVlll BIBLIOGRAPHY 

19. Duntzer (//.). Goethes * Wahrheit und Dichtung ' als Quelle 

seines Jugendlebens. Essay in the * Zeitschrift fiir den deutschen 
Unterricht,' vi. (1892) 382-424. But see Alt^ p. 11. 

20. Alt {Car/). Studien zur Entstehungsgeschichte von * Dichtung und 

Wahrheit.' Miinchen. 1898. [Vol. v. of Muncker's * Forschungen 
zur Neuereu Litteraturgeschichte.'] See Alb. Koster's valuable 
review in the *Anzeiger fur deutsches Altertum und deutsche 
Litteratur.' Vol. xxv. (1899) pp. 68-74. 

21. TAe title ^Dichtung und Wahrheit,' See Riemer^ Mittheilungen 

iiber Goethe, i. 397. R, Hildebrand in the Zeitschrift f. d. 
deutschen Unterricht, vii. (1893) 161 note. M, Morris, Goethe- 
Studien. Vol. ii. 2nd ed. Berlin. 1902. Pp. 283-84. 

22. GUow {H.). Die Kunst und Technik der Charakter-Schilderung 

in Goethes D.W. Essay in the Goethe-Jahrbuch, xii. (1892) 
228-244. 

23. Roeihe {Gustav). 'Dichtung und Wahrheit.' Zur Feier von 

Goethes Geburtstag. 1900. A lecture delivered in Frankfurt 
and printed in the * Berichte des Freien Deutschen Hochstiftes 
zu Frankfurt am Main.' Neue Folge. Vol. xvii. i. 1901. 
2\. Dilntzer{H,). Goethe's Stammbaume. Eine Genealogische Dar- 
stellung. Gotha. 1894. 

25. Heinemann {Karl). Goethes Mutter. Ein Lebensbild nach den 

Quellen. With many excellent illustrations. 6th edition. 
Leipzig. 1900. 

26. Witkowski {Georg), Cornelia, die Schwester Goethes. Frankfurt. 

1903. 

27. Diintzer {H,), Frauenbilder aus Goethes Jugendzeit. Studien zum 

Leben des Dichters. Stuttgart und TUbingen. 1852. 

28. DUntzer {Heinr,), Aus Goethes Freundeskreis. Braunschweig. 

1868. 

29. Brial {Micltel), Un officier de I'ancienne France, in * Deux Etudes 

sur Goethe.' Paris. 1898. The first essay is on le comte de 
. Thorenc (Goethe's count Thorane), and deals with M, Schu- 
barfs fine book on * Der Comte de Thorane, Goethes Konigs- 
leutnant (Miinchen, 1896). 

30. Biedermann {Woldemar von), Goethe und Leipzig. 2 vols. 

Leipzig. 1865. 

31. Vogel {Julius), Goethes Leipziger Studentenjahre. Ein Bilder- 

buch zu Dichtung und Wahrheit. Leipzig. 1900. Contains 
numerous fine illustrations. 

32. Strack {Adolf), Goethes Leipziger Liederbuch. Giessen. 1893. 

See also Weissenfels, No. 50. 
"i^l, Martin {Ernst), Goethe in Strassburg. Berlin. 1871. 



BIBLIOGRAPHY XXIX 

^^ Leyser{J,). Goethe zu Strassburg. Neustadt a/H. 187 1. 

35. Haym{R,), Herder. Berlin. 1880-85. 2 vols. 

36. Herbst {Wi/Mm), Goethe in Wetzlar. Vier Monate aus des 

Dichters Jugendzeit. Gotha. 1881. 

37. A/>pe// {Joh, With.). Werther und seine Zeit. 3rd ed. 

Oldenburg. 1882. 

38. Schmidt {Erich), Richardson, Rousseau und Goethe. Ein 

Beitrag zur Geschichte des Romans im iS Jahrhundert. Jena. 
1875. 

39. Reiffenstein {Carl Theod,), Bilder zu Goethes D. W. Nach 

eigenen Forschungen dargestellt. 4th ed. Frankfurt a/M. 1893. 

40. Illustrations. 

'Friederike' in vol. 26 {1829) and vol. 33 (1830), and *Gretchen ' 
in vol. 31 (1830) of Goethe's Schriften, Ausgabe letzter Hand 
are quite imaginary figures. 

W. V. Kaulbach's * Goethe Gallerie ' contains some fine sketches of 
persons and incidents mentioned in * Dichtung uiid Wahrheit.' 

Some authentic portraits and excellent reproductions of localities, etc., 
are contained in K. Heinemann's Life of Goethe (No. 49). in 
R. walker's illustrated edition of D. W. (No. 6), and in F. 
Vogel's book on Goethe at Leipzig (No. 31). 

41. Abeken {Bernh. Rud.). Goethe in den Jahren 1 771-1775. 2nd 

ed. Hanover. 1865. 

42. Weissenfels {Richard). Der junge Goethe. Freiburg. 1899. A 

fine lecture. See No. 50. 

43. Henning {Rudolf), Der junge Goethe. Lecture included in the 

volume called *StrassburgerGoethevortrage.' Strassburg. 1899. 

D.— Lives of Qoethe, Collections of Essays. 

44. Schdll {Adolf), Goethe in den Hauptziigen seines Lebens und 

Wirkens. Berlin. 1882. 

45. Grimm {Herman), Goethe. Vorlesungen gehalten an der Kgl. 

Universitat zu Berlin. 5th ed. Berlin. 1894. Especially on 
pp. 21-24. See the Index. There is an American translation 
of this work. 

46. Witkowski (Georg), Goethe. Leipzig, Berlin, Wien. 1899. 

Pp. 235-239. 

47. Bielschowsky {Albert), Goethe. Sein Leben und seine Werke. 

1st to 3rd edition. Miinchen. 1904. Vol. ii., 323, 337, 497. 
Nowhere a full discussion in the book published unfinished after 
the author's death. There is an American translation (to be 
finished in 3 volumes) by William A. Cooper. Vol. i. (till 17S8, 



XXX BIBLIOGRAPHY 

hence including the period covered by * Dichtung und Wahrheit '). 
New York. 1905. 

48. Meyer {Richard M.). Goeihe. 3rd ed. Berlin. 1905. Vol. ii. 

590-612. See also No. 4. 

49. Heinemann {Karl). Goethe. 3rd ed. Leipzig. 1903. Pp. 631- 

636. See also No. 5. 

50. Weissenfels {Richard). Goethe im Sturm und Drang. Vol. i. 

Halle. 1894. The concluding volume of this important work 
has not yet appeared. The first volume includes a discussion of 
* Goetz von Berlichingen.* 

51. Diintzer {H.). Studien zu Goethe's Werken. Elberfeld und Iser- 

lohn. 1849. 

52. Diintzer {Heinrich). Zur Goetheforschung. Neue Beitrage. 

Stuttgart. 1 89 1. 

53. Scherer {Wilhelm). Aufsatze liber Goethe. Berlin. 1886. 

Several essays are devoted to problems of D. W. 

54. Scherer {WilJulm). Aus Goethes Friihzeit. Bruchstiicke eines 

Commentars zum jungen Goethe. Strassburg. 1879. 

55. Minor {/.) und Saner {A. ). Studien zur Goethe- Philologie : Wien. 

1880. 

56. Schmidt {Erich). Charakteristiken. Berlin. Vol. i. 1886 ; vol. ii. 

1 901. Several essays deal with problems and persons occurring 
in * Dichtung und Wahrheit.* 

57. Biedermann {Woldemar von). Goethe-Forschungen. Frankfurt 

a/M. 1879. Neue Folge. ibd. 1886. 

58. Zamcke {Friedrich). Goetheschriften. Leipzig. 1897. 



E. — Bibliosrraphy . 

59. Karl Goedeke. Grundrisz der Geschichte der deutschen Dichtung. 

Second ed. entirely re- writ ten by different scholars, the Goethe 
portion by Max Koch. Vol. iv. (Dresden, 1891), § 244, pp. 
709-712, where very valuable bibliographical information is 
given (up to 1890). Only the second edition of the Grundrisz 
should be consulted. 

60. Scherer {With.). Geschichte der deutschen Litteratur. 9th ed. 

Berlin. 1902. Pp. 641 and 773-75 (bibliography). There is 
an English translation of this work by Mrs. Conybeare published 
by the Clarendon Press, Oxford. 

61. Vogt{Fr.)und Koch {Max). Geschichte der deutschen Literatur 

von den altesten Zeiten bis zur Gegenwart. 2 vols. 2nd ed. 
Leipzig und Wien. 1904. Vol. ii. p. 347 (pp. 547-552 



BIBLIOGRAPHY XXXI 

contain a very valuable bibliography by Max Koch^ comprising 
all the more important works for the study of D. W. up to 1903. 

62. Adolf Bartels, Handbuch zur Geschichte der deutschen Literatur. 
Leipzig. 1906. Pp. 252-255. The bibliography is much 
shorter, but more recent than that contained in the revised 
edition of Goedeke's monumental Grundrisz. See No. 59. 

6^^, yakresberickte filr Neuere Deutsche Litteratur-Geschichte. Vol. i. 
(Stuttgart, 1892) registers works and articles published in 1890. 
Vol. xiv. (Berlin, 1906) registers the publications of 1903. 
For other important periodicals, see K. Breul, A handy biblio- 
graphical guide to the study of the German language and 
literature. London. 1 895. Chapter I. 

64. Eugen Oswald. Goethe in England and America. London. 

1899. Pp. 8-9. Publications of the English Goethe Society. 
vii. (also in *Die Neueren Sprachen ' Marburg, vol. vii. (1899) 
No. 5), pp. 320-321. 

65. Goethe-Jahrbuch^ herausgegeben von Dr. Ludwig Geiger. Annually. 

28 volumes. Frankfurt a/M. 1880-1907. Usual abbreviation : 
G.J. Two valuable index volumes (i.-x., xi.-xx.). A mine of 
information for all Goethe students. 

66. Chronik des Wtefier Goethe- Vereins. The first editor was K. J. 

Schroer. Vienna, Since 1887. 

67. Jahrbuch des Freien Deutscheri Hochstifts [zu Frankfurt-am-Main], 

Since 1902. This contains valuable contributions to the study 
of Goethe's life and writings. It is a continuation of the 
* Berichte des Freien Deutschen Hochstifts ' (1884-1901). 

68. Publications of the English Goethe Society, Since 1886, In 

irregular intervals. London : published for the Society by 
David Nutt. 

69. Transactions of the Manchester Goethe Society, 1886- 1893. 

Warrington : Mackie & Co. 1894. 

70. Graf {II, G.). Versuch einer Sammlung aller Ausserungen des 

Dichters iiber seine poetischen Werke. Goethe iiber seine 

Dichtungen. Frankfurt a/M. Since 1901. 5 vols, have 
appeared. An indispensable work of reference. 

71. Braun {fulius W,). Schiller und Goethe im Urteil ihrer Zeit- 

genossen. Zeitungskritiken aus den Jahren 1 773-1812. For 
D. W. see Goethe. Vol. iii. (1802-1812). Berlin. 1885. 
Only three reviews could be given up to 18 1 2. 

72. English Reviews: {a) Articles in * Edinburgh Review* (1816). 

But see Carlyle, Misc. Essays (in seven vols.). Vol. i. 176-178. 
{b) Anon, article in 'Westminster Review* (1824) referring to 
the first 3 vols. (1811-1814) of the original. The article is 



xxxil BIBLIOGRAPHY 

written in a spirit of * veneration for the great man,' and defends 
him against the mistranslations and the unfriendly spirit of the 
Edinburgh reviewer, 

73. Baldensperger {Fernand)* Bibliographic critique de Goethe en 

France. Paris. 1907. (Aubert de Vitry's translation is 
discussed on p. 216, under 1696, together with Goethe's judgment 
of the translation and other references. Other translations of 
*Dichtung und Wahrheit' into French are mentioned on 
pages 216-217.) 

F. — Miscellaneous. 

74. Derjunge Goethe, Seine Briefe und Dichtungen von 1 764-1 776. 

Mit einer Einleitung von MicJiael Bernays, 3 vols. Leipzig : 
S. Hirzel (publisher and collector). 1875. 2nd ed. 1887. 

75. Ephemerides und Volkslieder, ed. Ernst Martin in vol. xiv. of 

B. Seufferfs * Deutsche Litteraturdenkmale des 18 Jhds.' 
Ileilbronn. 1883. 

76. Frankfurter Gelehrte Anzeigen vom Jahre 1 772. Reprinted in 

B, Seufferfs * Deutsche Litteraturdenkmale des 18. Jahrhun- 
derts,' Nos. 7 and 8. Heilbronn. 1883. With a valuable 
introduction (by W. Scherer) and full indexes. 

77. Von Arnim {Bettina). Goethe's Briefwechsel mit einem Kinde. 

3 vols. Berlin. 1835. 3rd ed. Berlin. 1881 (with a valuable 
essay on Bettina by Hermann Grimm). Latest edition in 3 vols, 
by Jonas Frankel. Jena. 1906. 

78. Other Autobiographical writings (Italienische Reise ; Kampagne 

in P'rankreich ; Belagerung von Mainz ; Reisen in die Schweiz 
[^t79,7]> am Rhein, Main, Neckar [1814-15], . . .). The Weimar 
edition, Heinemann edition, and Cotta Jubilee edition will be 
found especially useful — old editions should be used with 
caution. For the Italian Journey, see also the excellent work by 
Camillo v. Klenze : * The interpretation of Italy during the last 
two centuries.' Chicago. 1907. 

79. Tag- und Jahreshefte. Weimar edition. Cotta Jubilee edition, 

Stuttgart and Berlin. Vol. 30. (No year), (by O. Walzel). 
Heinemann's edition. Leipzig: Bibliographical. Institute. 
Vol. 16 (by Heinemann). Full Commentary of the Annals by 
W. V. Biedermann. Leipzig. 1894. 

80. Goethe's Letters should now be consulted in the large Weimar 

edition (Goethe's Werke. IV. Abteilung). The letters up 
to the end of his Frankfurt time (the period of D. W.) are 
contained in vols. i. and ii. (365 letters). Weimar. 1887. 



BIBLIOGRAPHY XXXlll 

%i, Fteliiz {IVilh,), Goethes Jugendbriefe erlautert. Berlin. 1880. 

82. Goethe's Diaries should now be consulted in the large Weimar 

edition. They have all been published. Weimar. 1887-1903. 
13 volumes. They begin only after he left Frankfurt for 
Weimar. • 

83. Biedtrmann {Woldemar von). Goethes Gesprache. Anhang an 

Goethe's Werke. 10 volumes. Leipzig. 1889-1896. With 
excellent explanations and indexes. In some cases corrections 
are to be found in Graf's monumental work. See No. 70. 

84. Eckermann {/ohann Peter). Gesprache mit Goethe in den letzten 

Jahren seines Lebens. Sechste Auflage. Mit einleitender 
Abhandlung und Anmerkungen von Heinrich Diintzer, 3 parts, 
with a very full and useful index. Leipzig. 1885. 

85. Rienier {Fr. IVilh,), Mittheilungen iiber Goethe. Aus miind- 

lichen und schriftlichen, gedruckten und ungedruckten Quellen. 
2 vols. Berlin. 1841. i., 397; ii., 608-611. See also 
Riemer's Diary (published in ' Deutsche Revue,' October, 1886, 
p. 32). 



AUTHOR'S PREFACE. 

As a preface to the present work, which, perhaps, more than 
another requires one, I should like to quote the letter of a 
friend, which led me to embark on what could not fail to be 
a serious undertaking. 

" We have now, my dear friend, the twelve parts of your 
poetical works before us, and on reading them through, find 
much already known to us, much that is new ; while much 
that we had forgotten is revived by this collection. As these 
twelve uniform volumes stand before us, we cannot refrain 
from regarding them as a whole, and one would fain sketch 
from it the portrait of the author and his characteristics. But 
it cannot be denied, in view of the vigour with which he 
began his literary career, and the length of time which has 
since elapsed, that a dozen small volumes must appear 
inadequate. Nor can one fail to recognize, in considering 
individual works, that they were for the most part called 
forth by special occasions, and reflect particular external 
facts, as well as distinct stages of mental development ; while 
it is equally clear that ephemeral moral and aesthetic axioms 
and convictions prevail in them. Nevertheless, as a whole, 
these productions remain without connection ; nay, it is often 
difficult to believe that they emanated from one and the same 
writer. ^ 

"Your friends, in the meantime, have not relinquished 
the inquiry, and are endeavouring by the light derived from 
their intimate acquaintance with your mode of life and 
thought, to guess many a riddle, to solve many a problem ; 



XXXVl AUTHOR S PREFACE 

indeed, their old affection and a friendship of many years* 
standing cause them to find a charm even in the difficulties 
which present themselves. Yet a little assistance here and 
there would not be unacceptable, and this help you cannot 
well refuse to our claims of friendship. 

" The first request we make, is that you should give us 
a list of your poetical works in chronological order, whereas 
in this new edition they are arranged according to certain 
inner affinities ; and that you should provide us with a more 
or less connected account of the circumstances of your life 
and feeling which furnished the subject-matter, as well as the 
examples that influenced you, and the theoretical principles 
by which you were governed. Should you blestow this labour 
for the gratification of a limited circle, possibly the result will 
furnish pleasure and profit to a wider public. The author, 
to his latest day, should not resign his privilege of holding 
converse, even at a distance, with those whom affection 
binds to him; and if it is not granted to every one at a 
certain stage of life to appear anew before the public with 
unexpected works of rare power, yet just in those years when 
knowledge is becoming more complete, and consciousness 
more distinct, it must be a very interesting and re-vivifying 
task to treat former productions as fresh material for a 
final achievement, which may once again aid the inner 
development of those who in past years developed by the 
side of the poet and with his help." 

This desire, so kindly expressed, immediately awakened 
within me an inclination to comply with it. For, if in 
earlier years we pursue our own path with passionate 
earnestness, and impatiently repudiate the claims of others, 
lest they should cause us to stray from it, in our later 
days, on the other hand, we gladly welcome any sympathy 
which rouses and stirs us to fresh endeavour by its kind- 
ness. I therefore instantly set to work on the pre- 
liminary task of collecting all the poems, long and short, 
in my twelve volumes, and of arranging them according to 



author's preface XXXVli 

years. • I strove to recall the times and circumstances under 
which each had been produced. But the task soon grew 
more difficult, as full explanatory notes and illustrations 
were necessary to fill up the gaps in what had already been 
published. For, in the first place, all my earliest experi- 
ments had been omitted, as well as much that had been 
begun and never finished ; again, the original form of much 
that was complete had entirely disappeared in the process 
of a thorough revision and remodelling. I had, further- 
more, to call to mind the work I had done in science and 
in the other arts, and the results I had achieved in these 
apparently alien subjects by my own exertion or in conjunc- 
tion with friends, whether privately or for publication. 

All these particulars I wished to. introduce by degrees 
for the satisfaction of my kindly-disposed readers ;^ but my 
efforts and reflections led me ever further and further. For 
in my anxiety to comply with that very considerate request, 
and in my endeavours to present in due order the inner 
motives, the external influences, and the stages of my 
progress in theory and practice, I was carried out of my 
narrow private sphere into the wide world. The figures of 
scores of eminent men, who either directly or indirectly had 
influenced me, rose up before me ; and even the vast move- 
ments of the great political world, which had exercised the 
greatest influence upon me, as well as upon the great mass 
of my contemporaries, claimed particular attention. For 
the main function of biography seems to be, to exhibit 
the man in relation to his times, and to show to what 
extent this environment was inimical or propitious to him ; 
how he evolved from it a philosophy of the world and of 
men, and in what way he, in his turn, if an artist, poet, or 
author, reproduced this philosophy in concrete form. Any- 
one attempting to write his own biography in this sense 
requires — what is hardly attainable — a knowledge of him- 
self and of his age : of himself as the factor which has 
persisted under all the variations of circumstances ; of the 



xxxviii author's PREFACE 

age as the force which hurries him, whether willing or un- 
willing, along with it, guiding him, moulding him ; so that 
one may venture to pronounce, that the fact of being bom 
ten years earlier or later would have made a man an entirely 
different person, as regards his own development and his 
influence on others. 

In this manner, from considerations and endeavours, 
from recollections and meditations such as these, the sketch 
before us took shape ; and it is when viewed in the light 
which this account of its origin suggests that it will prove 
most pleasing and profitable, and may be criticized most 
justly. Any further remarks that might be added, especially 
with regard to the half poetic, half historical mode of treat- 
ment, may be left for future occasions, such as cannot fail 
to occur frequently in the course of the narrative. 



POETRY AND TRUTH 

FROM MY OWN LIFE 
PART THE FIRST 

*0 /i-^ Sapets avOpoiiros ov TratScverat. 

FIRST BOOK 

On the 28th of August, 1749, at mid-day, as the clock struck 
twelve, I came into the world, at Frankfort-on-the-Maine. 
The aspect of the stars was propitious : the sun stood in the 
sign of the Virgin, and had culminated for the day ; Jupiter 
and Venus looked on him with a friendly eye, and Mercury 
not adversely ; the attitude of Saturn and Mars was neutral ; 
the Moon alone, just full, exerted her power of opposition, 
all the more as she had just reached her planetary hour. 
She therefore resisted my birth, which could not be accom- 
plished until this hour was passed. 

These auspicious aspects, which the astrologers subse- 
quently interpreted very favourably for me, may have been 
the causes of my preservation ; for, through the unskilfulness 
of the midwife, I came into the world apparently lifeless, 
and only after various expedients had been tried was I made 
to open my eyes. This circumstance, which had caused my 
relatives great anxiety, turned out to the advantage of my 
fellow-citizens, inasmuch as my grandfather, the Schultheiss* 
Johann Wolfgang Textor, was induced by it to appoint an 
accoucheur, and to introduce or revive the professional train- 
ing of nurses, by which changes many who were born after 
me are likely to have profited. 

* A chief judge or magistrate of the town. 
VOL. I. 1 B 



2 POETRY AND TRUTH [part i. book i 

When we attempt to recall what befell us in the earliest 
period of youth, we are apt to confound what we have been 
told by others with what we remember from our own experi- 
ence. Without, therefore, attempting an exact investigation 
of the sources of my recollections — in any case a profitless 
task — I know as a fact that we lived in an old house, which 
really consisted of two adjoining houses that had been 
thrown into one. A turret-like staircase led to rooms on 
different levels, and the unevenness of the storeys was 
remedied by steps. For us children, a younger sister and 
myself, the favourite resort was the spacious entrance-hall, 
where, by the side of the front door, was a large wooden 
lattice, through which we had direct communication with the 
street and open air. A bird-cage of this sort, with which many 
houses were provided, was called a Frame (Gerdms). The 
women sat in it to sew and knit, the cook picked her salad, 
there they carried on conversations with their neighbours : 
hence in summer the streets acquired somewhat of a southern 
aspect This familiarity with the outer world brought with 
it a sense of freedom. We children, too, by means of these 
Frames, were brought into contact with our neighbours. Of 
these three brothers von Ochsenstein, the surviving sons 
of the deceased Schultheiss, lived opposite us ; they became 
fond of me, and frequently showed their interest by playing 
with me or poking fun at me. 

My relatives were fond of narrating all sorts of pranks 
which these solitary and otherwise sober-minded men put 
into my head. I will give only one instance. A crockery 
fair had just been held, and not only had the immediate 
needs of the kitchen been supplied, but miniature articles 
of the same ware had been purchased as playthings for us 
children. One fine afternoon, when everything was quiet in 
the house, I was amusing myself with my pots and dishes in 
the Frame, and not knowing what to do next, I hurled one 
of my toys into the street. The von Ochsensteins, who 
saw my delight at the fine crash it made, and how I clapped 
my hands, for joy, cried out, " Another." Without delay I 
flung out a pot, and as they went on calling for more, by 
degrees the whole collection, platters, pipkins, mugs and all, 
were dashed upon the pavement. My neighbours continued 
to express their approbation, and I was highly delighted to 



1749-55] THE HIRSCHGRABEN 3 

give them pleasure. But my stock was exhausted, and still 
they shouted, "More." I ran, therefore, straight to the 
kitchen, and brought thence the earthenware plates, which 
as they smashed naturally afforded a still more lively 
spectacle ; and so I kept running backwards and forwards, 
fetching all the plates I could reach from where they stood 
in rows on the dresser. But as that did not satisfy my 
audience, I devoted all the ware that I could lay hands on 
to similar destruction. Not till later did any one appear to 
hinder and restrain. The mischief was done, and to com- 
pensate for much broken crockery, there was at any rate an 
amusing story, in which the mischievous authors took special 
delight to the end of their days. 

My father's mother, to whom the house in which we lived 
really belonged, passed her days in a large back-room directly 
adjoining the hall, and we were accustomed to carry on our 
games close to her chair, and when she was ill, even by her 
bedside. She lives in my memory like a spirit, — a beautiful, 
emaciated woman, always dressed neatly and in white. She 
has ever remained mild, gentle, and kind in my recollection 
of her. 

The street in which our house was situated passed by the 
name of Hirschgraben (lit. " Stag-moat ") ; but as neither 
stags nor moats were to be seen, we asked for an explana- 
tion of the expression. We were told that our house stood 
on a spot that was once outside the city, and that where the 
street now ran had formerly been a moat, in which a number 
of stags were kept. These stags had been preserved and 
fed here, because every year the senate, according to an 
ancient custom, feasted publicly on a stag, which was con- 
sequently always ready to hand for such a festival, even 
when princes or knights curtailed and interfered with the 
city's right of chase outside, or the walls were surrounded 
or besieged by an enemy. This story pleased us greatly, 
and we wished that such a preserve of tame deer had been 
still in existence in our days. 

The back of the house, particularly^the second storey, 
commanded a very pleasant prospect over an almost immea- 
surable extent of neighbouring gardens, stretching to the 
very walls of the city. But, alas 1 in the process of trans- 
forming what were once public grounds into private gardens, 



4 POETRY AND TRUTH [part i. book i 

our house and some others lying near the comer of the 
street had been much stinted, since the houses between us 
and the Eossmarkt had appropriated spacious out-build- 
ings and large gardens, while a fairly high wall round our 
property shut us out from these paradises, lying so near. 

On the second floor was a room which was called the 
garden-room, because of an attempt to supply the want of a 
garden by the aid of a few plants in the window. As I 
grew older, this became my favourite retreat, one that was 
not exactly melancholy, but somewhat sentimental. Beyond 
these gardens, across the walls and ramparts of the city, 
might be seen a beautiful and fertile plain ; the one which 
stretches towards HochsJ:. In the summer season I com- 
monly learned my lessons there, and watched the thxmder- 
storms, but could never look my fill at the setting sun, which 
went down directly opposite my windows. But, at the same 
time, when I saw the neighbours wandering about in their 
gardens and tending their flowers, the children playing, parties 
of friends enjoying themselves, and could hear the skittle- 
balls rolling and the nine-pins dropping, there would awake 
within me a feeling of solitude, and thence a vague sense 
of longing, which accorded with a certain seriousness and 
undefined foreboding implanted in me by nature, and so 
exerted its influence at an early age, and showed itself 
more distinctly in after years. 

The old house, with its many corners and gloomy recesses, 
was moreover calculated to awaken dread and terror in 
childish minds. Unfortunately, too, the disciplinary maxim 
hhat young people should at an early age be made to lose 
{ all fear of the awful and invisible, and accustomed to horrors, 
\ was still generally accepted. It was, therefore, a rule that 
we children should sleep alone, and when we found this 
impossible, and softly slipped from our beds to seek the 
society of the servants, our father, with his dressing-gown 
turned inside out, which disguised him sufficiently for the 
purpose, would stop our way, and frighten us back to our 
beds. The evil results will be obvious to everyone. How 
is anyone to be emancipated from fear so long as he is 
beset with a double terror? My mother, always cheerful 
and gay, and desirous of making others so, discovered a 
better pedagogical expedient. She managed to gain her 



1749-55] THE PUPPET-SHOW 5 

end by rewards. It was the season for peaches, and she 
promised us a plentiful supply every morning if we overcame 
our fears during the night. In this way she succeeded, and 
both parties were satisfied. 

In the interior of the house my eyes were chiefly attracted 
by a series of Roman views, with which my father had 
ornamented an ante-room. They were engravings by some 
of the accomplished predecessors of Piranesi, who understood 
perspective and architecture, and whose style was clear 
and excellent. There I saw every day, the Piazza del 
PopolOj the Colosseum, the Piazza of St Fetef^s, and the 
interior and the exterior of St. Peter's Church, the Castel San 
Angelo, and many other places. These pictures impressed 
themselves deeply upon me, and my father, usually so laconic, 
often had the kindness to describe the subjects of the en- 
gravings. His partiality for the Italian language, and for 
everything pertaining to Italy, was very pronounced. He 
often showed us a small collection of marbles and natural 
curiosities, which he had brought with him from Italy ; and 
he devoted a great part of his time to a description of his 
travels, written in Italian, the copying and revision of which 
he completed with his own hand, slowly and carefully, book 
by book. A lively old teacher of Italian, called Giovinazzi, 
assisted him in this work. Moreover, the old man sang 
rather well, and every day my mother must needs accompany 
him and herself upon the clavichord, and thus I early made 
acquaintance with the Solitario bosco ombroso, and knew it by 
heart before I understood it. 

My father was naturally fond of teaching, and, being free 
from business engagements, he liked to communicate to 
others any knowledge and accomplishments of which he was 
possessed. Thus, during the first years of their marriage, 
he had kept my mother busily engaged in writing, playing 
the clavichord, and singing ; at the same time she had found 
it necessary to acquire some knowledge of Italian and some 
slight facility in speaking it. 

Generally we passed all our leisure hours with my grand- 
mother, in whose spacious apartment we found plenty of 
room for our games. She knew how to amuse us with 
various trifles, and td regale us with all sorts of delicacies. 
But one Christmas evening, she crowned all her kind deeds 



6 POETRY AND TRUTH [part i. book i 

by having a puppet-show exhibited before us, and thus 
unfolded a new world in the old house. This unexpected 
performance had a powerful attraction for our young minds ; 
upon the boy particularly it made a very strong impression, 
which affected him deeply and permanently. 

The little stage with its mute personages, which at the 
outset had only been exhibited to us, but was afterwards 
given over to us to use and endow with dramatic life, was 
prized all the more highly by us children, inasmuch as it 
was the last bequest of our dear grandmother, who soon 
afterwards was withdrawn from our sight by increasing 
sickness, and then carried off by death for ever. Her death 
was the more momentous for our family, seeing that it 
involved a complete change in our circumstances. 

As long as my grandmother lived, my father had refrained 
from altering or renovating the house in the slightest degree, 
though it was known that he had made plans for extensive 
building operations, which were begun at once. In Frank- 
fort, as in many other old towns, when anybody put up a 
wooden structure, it was usual, in order to gain space, to 
make not only the first, but each successive storey project 
over the lower one, by which means especially narrow streets 
acquired a somewhat gloomy and depressing aspect. At 
last a law was passed, that everyone erecting a new house 
should confine his projections to the first storey, and carry 
the others up perpendicularly. My father, anxious not to 
lose the projecting space in the second storey, and having 
small regard for the outward architectural appearance, made 
the convenient arrangement of the interior his sole aim. To 
this end he resorted to the expedient which others had 
employed before him, of under-propping the upper part of 
the house, until one part after another had been removed, 
from the bottom upwards, and a new structure inserted, as it 
were, in its place. Thus, while practically none of the old 
structure remained, the new one might still pass as an 
alteration. As the pulling dowo and building up was thus 
done gradually, my father determined not to quit the house, 
in order the better to direct and supervise the work — as he 
possessed a good knowledge of the technicalities of building. 
At the same time he would not suffer his family to leave 
him. This new epoch seemed very strange and surprising 



1749-55] REBUILDING THE HOUSE 7 

to the children. To see the rooms in which they had so 
often been confined and tormented with wearisome lessons 
and tasks, the passages they had played in, the walls which 
had always been so carefully kept clean, all falling beneath 
the mason's pick-axe and the carpenter's hatchet — and 
moreover from the base upwards; meanwhile to be sus- 
pended as it were in the air, propped up by beams, and 
yet be kept at a particular lesson, or a definite task — all 
this produced a ferment in their young heads that was not 
easily allayed. But the young people felt the inconvenience 
less, because they had somewhat more space for play than 
before, and there were many opportxmities of swinging on 
beams, and playing at see-saw with the boards. 

At first my father obstinately persisted in carrying out his 
plan ; but when eventually the roof was partially removed, 
and when in spite of the oil-cloth wall-hangings which had 
been taken down and used as tarpaulins, the rain yet reached 
our beds, he determined, though reluctantly, that the children 
should be entrusted for a time to some kind friends, who 
had already expressed their willingness to take charge of 
them, and that they should be sent to a public school. 

This transition was rather unpleasant ; for when children, 
who had hitherto been carefully guarded at home, under ' 
the purest and best moral influence, were thrown among 
a rough crowd of young creatures, they were suddenly 
brought into cruel contact with what was vulgar, bad, and 
even base, since they lacked both weapons and skill to 
protect themselves. 

It was about this period that I first became acquainted 
with my native city, through which I strolled with increasing 
freedom and opportunity, sometimes alone, and sometimes 
in the company of light-hearted companions. To convey 
to some degree the impression made upon me by these 
grave and revered spots, I must here introduce a descrip- 
tion of my birth-place, as it gradually became known 
to me, bit by bit. Best of all I loved to walk along the 
great bridge over the Maine. Its length, its strength, and 
its fine appearance, rendered it a notable structure, and 
it was, besides, almost the only memorial left from ancient 
times of the protective care which civil government owes to 
its citizens. The beautiful stream above and below the 



8 POETRY AND TRUTH [part i. book i 

bridge attracted my eye, and when the gilt cock on the old 
cross near the middle of the bridge glittered in the sunshine, 
I was filled with pleasant feelings. Generally I extended my 
walk through Sachsenhausen, and for a farthing was ferried 
pleasantly across the river. I was then on this side of the 
stream, and. would stroll along to the wine-market, and 
admire the mechanism of the cranes when goods were un- 
loaded. But it was particularly entertaining to watch the 
arrival of the market-boats, from which such various cargoes 
and sometimes such extraordinary figures were seen to dis- 
embark. On entering the city, the Saalhof, which at least 
stood on the spot where the castle of the Emperor Charle- 
magne and his successors was reported to have been, was 
invariably greeted with profound reverence. It was pleasant 
to lose oneself in the old trading town, particularly on 
market-days, among the crowd collected about the Church of 
St. Bartholomew. From the earliest times, throngs of buyers 
and sellers had gathered there, and the place being thus 
occupied, it was not easy in later days to bring about a more 
roomy and cheerful arrangement. The booths of the so-called 
Pfarreisen were very important places for us children, and 
many a copper found its way thither to purchase sheets of 
coloured paper stamped with gold animals. Only rarely, 
however, did we care to make our way through the narrow, 
crowded, and dirty market-place. I call to mind, also, that 
I always fled with horror from the disgusting slaughter-houses, 
standing close together, abutting on the market-place. On the 
other hand, the Rdmerberg- was a most delightful place for 
walking. The way to the new town, along by the new shops, 
was always cheering and pleasant ; yet we regretted that a 
street did not lead into the Zeil past the Church of Our Lady, 
and that we always had to go a long way round by the 
Hasengasse^ or the Catherine Gate. But what chiefly 
attracted the child's attention, were the many little towns 
within the town, the fortresses within the fortress ; viz. the 
walled monastic enclosures, and several other buildings, 
dating from earlier times, and more or less like castles — 
such as the Nuremberg Court, the Compostella, the Braunfels, 
the ancestral house of the family of Stallburg, and several 
strongholds, transformed in modem times into dwellings and 
warehouses. Nothing of striking architectural beauty was 



1749-551 THE TOWN HALL 9 

to be seen in Frankfort, and everything pointed to a period 
long past and full of disturbances, both for the town and its 
surroundings. Gates and towers, defining the bounds of the 
old city, — then farther off, other gates, towers, walls, bridges, 
ramparts, moats, with which the new city was encompassed, 
— ^all indicated, only too plainly, that the necessity for safe- 
guarding the common weal in disastrous times had induced 
these arrangements, and that all the squares and streets, 
even the newest, broadest, and best laid out, owed their 
origin to chance and caprice, and not to any regulating 
mind. A certain love of antiquity was thus implanted in 
the boy, and was specially fostered and encouraged by old 
chronicles and wood-cuts, as, for instance, those of Grave 
pourtraying the siege of Frankfort. At the same time there 
developed in him a delight in observing the purely human 
conditions of life in their variety and simplicity, apart from 
any other pretensions to interest or beauty. It was, there- 
fore, one of our favourite walks, which we endeavoured to 
take several times a year, to follow the course of the path 
which ran along the inside of the city walls. Gardens, 
courts, and out-buildings extend to the ramparts ; a glimpse 
is afforded into the humble and secluded domestic life of 
thousands of human beings. Passing from the ornamental 
pleasure-gardens of the rich to the orchards of the citizen, 
kept for the sake of their produce — thence to the factories, 
bleaching-grounds, and similar industries, and even to the 
churchyard — for a little world lay within the limits of the 
city — we saw before us at every step a strange and varied 
spectacle, which our childish curiosity could never suffi- 
ciently enjoy. In fact, the celebrated Devil-upon-two-sticks, 
when he lifted the roofs of Madrid at night to please his 
friend, scarcely did more for him than was here done for 
us imder the open sky in bright sunshine. The keys that 
were needed on this journey to gain us admission to many a 
tower, stair, and postern, were in the hands of the magistrates 
responsible for the arsenal, and we never omitted to cajole 
their subordinates. 

But a more important, and in one sense more profitable 
place for us, was the Town Hall, called the Romer, In its 
lower vault-like halls we loved to lose ourselves. We 
obtained an entrance to the large, extremely plain Council 



lO POETRY AND TRUTH [part i. book i 

Chamber. The walls as well as the vaulted ceiling were 
white, though panelled to a certain height, and the whole 
was without a trace of painting, or any kind of statuary ; 
only, high up on the middle wall, might be read this brief 
inscription : 

" One man's word is no man's word, 
Justice needs that both be heard." 

After genuine ancient fashion, benches were ranged 
around the wainscot, and raised one step above the floor for 
the accommodation of the members of the Council. This 
arrangement of the room made us realize why the various 
grades in the Senate were designated by benches. To the 
left of the door, as far as the opposite comer, sat the Schoffen 
on the first bench ; in the corner itself the Schultheiss, the 
.only member who had a small table before him ; to his left 
as far as the window side of the hall sat the members of 
the second bench ; while along the windows ran the third 
bench, occupied by the artisans. In the midst of the hall 
stood a table for the town-clerk. 

Once within the Romer^ we often mingled with the crowd 
at the audiences of the burgomaster. But whatever related 
to the election and coronation of the Emperors possessed 
a greater charm. We managed to gain the favour of the 
curators, and were allowed to mount the smart new imperial 
staircase, which was painted in fresco, and usually closed 
with a grating. The Election Hall, with its purple hangings 
and curiously ornamented gilt cornices, filled us with awe. 
The paintings over the door, in which little children or genii, 
clothed in robes of state and laden with the insignia of the 
German Empire, had a curious effect, were observed by us 
with great attention; and we hoped that we might some 
day live to see a coronation with our own eyes. It was 
very difficult to get us out of the great Imperial Hall, when 
we had once been fortunate enough to steal in ; and while 
we looked at the half-length portraits of all the Emperors 
painted at a certain height round the walls^ anyone who 
would tell us something of their doings was accounted a 
friend indeed. 

We listened to many a legend of Charlemagne. But our 
interest in history did not begin till Rudolph of Hapsburg, 



1749-55] IMPERIAL CORONATIONS II 

who by his heroism put an end to a time of such dire 
confusion. Charles IV. also attracted our notice. We had 
ulready heard of the Golden Bull, and the Code of Criminal 
Justice. We knew, too, that he had not made the Frank- 
forters suffer for their adhesion to his noble rival. Emperor 
Gunther of Schwarzburg. We heard Maximilian praised as 
a friend both to mankind, and to the townsmen, his subjects, 
and were also told of the prophecy that he would be the 
last Emperor belonging to a German house ; this unhappily 
came to pass, as after his death the choice lay between the 
King of Spain (afterwards) Charles V., and the King of 
France, Francis I. With some anxiety the narrator added 
that a similar prophecy, or rather omen, was again current ; 
for it was obvious that there was room left for the portrait 
of only one more Emperor — a circumstance which, though 
seemingly accidental, filled the patriotic with concern. 

Having once entered upon this round, we did not fail 
to repair to the Cathedral, and there visit the grave of the 
brave Gunther, so highly esteemed both by friend and foe. 
The famous stone which formerly covered it is set up in 
the choir. The door close by, leading into the conclave, 
long remained closed to us, until at last we managed, by 
appealing to superior authorities, to gain access to this 
celebrated place. But we should have done better had 
we continued merely to picture it to our imaginations ; for 
we found this room* so notable in German history, in which 
the most powerful princes were accustomed to meet for so 
momentous an act, entirely without adequate decoration, 
and actually used as a store-house for beams, poles, scaffold- 
ing, and similar lumber. All the more were our imaginations 
fired and our hearts elated, when shortly afterwards we 
received permission to be present in the Town Hall at the 
exhibition of the Golden Bull to some distinguished strangers. 

At that time the boy used to listen eagerly to the account 
of the last two coronations, which had followed close upon 
each other. His family, as well as older relatives and 
acquaintances, were very fond of telling and retelling the 
story; for there was no Frankforter who had attained a 
certain age who did not regard these two events, and their 
attendant circumstances, as the crowning glory of his life. 
After the splendour of the coronation of Charles VII., on 



12 POETRY AND TRUTH [part i. book i 

which occasion the French Ambassador, in particular, had 
given magnificent entertainments at' great cost and with 
excellent taste, the subsequent events were all the more dis-* 
tressing for the good Emperor, who was forced to relinquish 
his capital of Munich, and throw himself more or less on 
the hospitality of the burghers of Frankfort. 

If the coronation of Francis I. was not so strikingly 
splendid as the previous one, it was dignified by the 
presence of the Empress Maria Theresa, whose beauty 
appears to have made as great an impression on the men, 
as the grave and dignified figure and the blue eyes of 
Charles VII. made on the women. At any rate, both sexes 
vied with one another in giving to the attentive boy a highly 
favourable conception of both these personages. All these 
narratives and descriptions were given with a certain 
serenity and sense of security; for the peace of Aix-la- 
Chapelle had, for the moment, put an end to all feuds; 
and hence recent campaigns — ^the battle of Dettingen, for 
instance, and other remarkable events of by-gone years — were 
discussed with the same complacency as these festivities; 
and everything important and dangerous seemed, as gene- 
rally happens after the conclusion of a peace, to have 
occurred solely for the diversion of the [prosperous and 
light-hearted. 

Scarcely would half a year have been spent in such 
patriotic exclusiveness when the Fairs* came round, and 
never failed to produce an incredible ferment in the heads 
of all children. The erection, in so short a time, of so many 
booths, creating a new town within the old one, the restless 
activity, the unloading and unpacking of wares, excited from 
the very first dawn pf consciousness an insatiable curiosity 
and a boundless desire for childish possessions, which the 
boy, as he grew older, endeavoured to gratify, now in this 
way, now in that, according, to the resources of his little 
purse. At the same time he formed a notion of the various 
productions of the world, and began to understand what its 
needs are, and what the inhabitants of its different parts 
exchange with each other. 

These great epochs, which came round regularly in 
spring and autumn, were announced by curious solemnities, 
which seemed all the more significant in that they brought 



1749-55] THE FAIRS 1 3 

the old time vividly before us, and made us conscious of what 
we had inherited from it. On the Day of Escort, the whole 
population were on their legs, thronging to the Fahrgasse, to 
the bridge, and beyond Sachsenhausen ; all the windows 
were occupied, though nothing unusual took place during 
the day-time ; the crowd seeming to be there merely for the 
sake of jostling one another, and the spectators of looking 
at one another ; for the real event of the day did not begin 
till nightfall, and was then rather taken upon trust than 
actually seen. 

In those old, unquiet times, when every one did wrong 
according to his pleasure, or helped the right as his liking 
led him, traders on their way to the Fairs were beset and 
harassed at will by highwaymen, both of noble and ignoble 
birth, so that princes and other potentates caused their 
subjects to be accompanied to Frankfort by an armed 
escort Now the burghers of the imperial city would not 
allow any rights pertaining to themselves or their territory to 
be infringed ; they would go out to meet the advancing party; 
and thus altercations often arose as to how near the escort 
should approach, or whether it had a right to enter the city 
at all. But these difficulties occurred, not only where matters 
of trade and fairs were concerned, but also when persons of 
rank made their approach in times either of peace or of 
war, and especially on the days of imperial elections ; and 
the meeting often ended in blows when a retinue which was 
forbidden the city strove to force its way in along with its 
lord. Hence negotiations had from time to time been 
carried on, and many agreements concluded, though always 
with reservations of rights on both sides, and the hope was 
still entertained of composing a quarrel that had already 
lasted for centuries, especially as the whole institution, for 
the sake of which such fierce contests had so long been 
waged, might almost be regarded as useless, or at least as 
superfluous. 

Meanwhile, on those days, the city cavalry in several 
divisions, under their various commanders, rode forth from 
different gates to a pre-arranged spot. There they met the 
troopers or hussars of the persons entitled to an escort, who, 
as well as their leaders, were well received and entertained. 
They stayed till towards evening, and then rode back to the 



14 POETRY AND TRUTH [part i. book i 

city, scarcely visible to the expectant crowd ; and by this 
time many a city knight was not in a condition to manage 
his horse, or to keep himself in the saddle. The most im- 
portant processions returned by the bridge-gate, and there 
the concourse was consequently greatest Last of all, just as 
night fell, the Nuremberg mail-coach arrived, escorted in the 
same way, and the story was current that, in pursuance of 
custom, it always contained an old woman. Its arrival, there- 
fore, was a signal for all the urchins to break out into a deafen- 
ing shout, though it was far too dark to distinguish any one 
of the passengers inside. The throng that pressed after the 
coach through the bridge-gate was beyond belief, and quite 
bewildering to the senses. The houses nearest the bridge 
were, therefore, most in demand among spectators. 

Another yet far more singular ceremony, which caused 
general excitement in broad daylight, was the Pipers' Court 
\Pfeifergericht). It was a survival from those early times 
when the larger trading-towns endeavoured to abolish, or at 
least to lighten, the customs which increased with the growth 
of trade and industry. The Emperor who needed their aid 
granted this exemption, whenever it was in his power to 
do so, but usually only for one year ; so that it had to be 
renewed annually. This privilege was granted by means of 
symbolical gifts, which were presented before the opening 
of St. Bartholomew's Fair to the imperial magistrate {Schul- 
theiss), who occasionally held the office of receiver-general 
of the customs; and, to add to the impressiveness of the 
ceremony, the gifts were offered when he was sitting in full 
court with the Schoffen, Even at a later date, when the chief 
magistrate was no longer appointed by the Emperor, but was 
elected by the city itself, he still retained these privileges ; and 
thus both the immunities of the cities from toll, and the cere- 
monies by which the representatives from Worms, Nurem- 
berg, and Old Bamberg acknowledged the ancient concession, 
had come down to our times. The day before the Nativity 
of the Virgin Mary, an open court was proclaimed. In an 
enclosed space in the great Imperial Hall, the Schoffen took 
their raised seats ; a step higher, sat the Schultheiss in the 
midst of them ; while below on the right hand were the 
attorneys invested by either party with plenary powers. 
The registrar begins to read aloud the weighty sentences 



1749-553 THE PTPERS' COURT 1 5 

reserved for this day ; the attorneys apply for documents, 
present appeals, or do whatever else the occasion requires. 

All at once sounds of strange music seem to announce 
the advent of former centuries. They proceed from three 
pipers, one of whom plays an old shawm, another a bassoon, 
and the third a bombard, or oboe. They wear blue cloaks 
trimmed with gold, having the notes fastened to their sleeves, 
and their heads covered. In this guise they had left their 
inn punctually at ten o'clock, with the deputies and their 
attendants in their wake, stared at by residents and strangers, 
and thus they enter the hall. The legal proceedings are 
stopped — the pipers and their train halt before the barrier — 
the deputy passes through it and stations himself in front of 
the Schtiltheiss, The emblematic presents, which were re- 
quired to accord precisely with ancient precedent, usually 
consisted of the staple commodities of the city offering 
them. Pepper passed, as it were, for all wares; and so, 
on this occasion, the deputy brought a handsomely turned 
wooden goblet filled with pepper. Upon it lay a pair of 
gloves, curiously slashed, stitched, and tasselled with silk — 
such as the Emperor himself might use on certain occasions 
in token of a favour conferred and accepted. Along with 
these was a white staff, which in former times was rarely 
absent in legal and judicial proceedings. Some small silver 
coins were added ; and the city of Worms brought an old 
felt hat, which was invariably redeemed, so that the same 
one had been a witness of these ceremonies for many 
years. 

After the deputy had delivered his speech, handed over 
his present, and received from the Schtiltheiss the assurance 
of the continuance of the privilege, he quitted the enclosed 
circle, the pipers blew their pipes, the procession departed 
as it had come, the court pursued its business, until the 
second and at length the third deputy had been introduced. 
For the deputies appeared at considerable intervals ; partly 
that the pleasure of the public might be prolonged, and partly 
because they were always the same antiquated performers 
whom Nuremberg had undertaken to maintain and produce 
annually, at the appointed place, as representatives of itself 
and the other cities concerned. 

We children were particularly interested in this festival, 



1 6 POETRY AND TRUTH [part i. book i 

because we were not a little flattered to see our grandfather 
in a place of so much honour ; and because we used generally 
to visit him, very modestly, on the self-same day, in the 
hope that, after my grandmother had emptied the pepper 
into her spice boxes, we might pick up a goblet, some little 
staves, a pair of gloves or an old Rdder Albus,* An ex- 
planation of these symbolical ceremonies, calling up antiquity 
as if by magic, could not fail to transport us to past times 
and to awaken in us an interest in the manners, customs, 
and feelings of our ancestors, who were brought before us 
in so strange a way by pipers and deputies, seemingly risen 
from the past, and by tangible gifts, which we might ourselves 
possess. 

These venerable solemnities were followed, in summer 
weather, by many festivals more amusing for us children, 
which took place in the open air, outside the city. On the 
right bank of the Maine, below the town, about half an 
hour's walk from the gate, rises a sulphur-spring, carefully 
enclosed and surrounded by aged lime-trees. Not far from 
it stands the Good-People s-Court^ once a hospital, erected 
for the sake of the waters. On the common pasture-land 
around, the herds of cattle from the neighbourhood used 
to be collected on a certain day of the year ; and the herds- 
men, together with their sweethearts, celebrated a rural 
festival, with dancing and singing, and every kind of gaiety 
and rude merry-making. On the opposite side of the city 
lay a similar but larger common, likewise adorned with a 
spring and still finer lime-trees. Thither, at Whitsuntide, 
the flocks of sheep were driven ; and, at the same time, the 
poor, pale-faced children were allowed to come outside the 
walls of their orphanage into the open air. Not until later 
did the thought occur to anyone that these destitute creatures, 
who must some day make their way in the world, ought 
to be brought into contact with it at an early age; that 
instead of being kept in dreary confinement, they ought 
rather to be trained from the first to service and endurance ; 
and that there was every reason for strengthening them 
physically and morally from their infancy. The nurses and 
maids, always glad of an excuse for a walk, used to carry 
or lead us to such places, even in our earliest years; so 
* An old silver coin. 



1749-551 MY FATHER'S LIBRARY 1 7 

that these rural festivals are among the first impressions that 
I can recall. 

Meanwhile, our house had been finished, and that too in 
a tolerably short space of time, because everything had been 
carefully considered and arranged for, and the needful money 
provided. We now found ourselves all together again, with 
general satisfaction : for, when once a carefully devised plan 
has been carried out, the various inconveniences incidental 
to its accomplishment are forgotten. The building, for a 
private residence, was roomy enough; light and cheerful 
throughout, with broad staircases, pleasant vestibules, and a 
view of the gardens from several of the windows. The 
decoration and fitting up of the inside were gradually 
accomplished, and served at the same time for occupation 
and amusement. 

The first thing to be reduced to order was my father's 
collection of books^ the best of which, in calf and half-calf 
bindings, were to ornament the walls of his office and study. 
He possessed the beautiful Dutch editions of the Latin 
classics, all of which he had endeavoured to procure in 
quarto for the sake of outward uniformity ; and also many 
other works relating to Roman antiquities, and the less 
technical parts of jurisprudence. The most eminent Italian 
poets were included, and for Tasso he showed a great pre- 
dilection. There were also the best and most recent books 
of travels; and he took great delight in correcting and 
completing Keyssler and Nemeiz from them. Nor had he 
omitted to surround himself with the most essential aids to 
learning, such as dictionaries of various languages, and 
encyclopedias, which might be consulted at will, together 
with much else tending to pleasure and profit. 

The other half of this collection, in neat parchment 
bindings, with very beautifully written titles, was placed in 
a special attic. He attended to the addition of new books, 
as well as to their binding and arrangement, with great 
deliberation and orderliness : and he was much influenced 
in his opinion by critical notices that ascribed particular 
merit to any work. His collection of legal treatises was 
increased annually by several volumes. 

Next, the pictures, which used to hang promiscuously about 
the old house, were collected and arranged symmetrically 

VOL. I. c 



1 8 POETRY AND TRUTH [part l book i 

on the walls of a cheerful room near the study, all in black 
frames, ornamented with gilt mouldings. It was one of my 
father's principles, expressed frequently and even passion- 
ately, that one ought to employ living artists, and to spend 
less upon dead ones, whose reputation often depended 
upon prejudice. He had the notion that it was precisely 
the same with pictures as with Rhenish wines, which, though 
age may impart to them a high value, can be produced in each 
successive year of an excellence equal to that of past years. 
After the lapse of some time, the new wine would become 
old, quite as valuable, and perhaps yet more delicious. 
This opinion he supported mainly by the observation that 
many old pictures seemed to derive their chief value for 
lovers of art from the fact that they had become darker 
and browner, and that the harmony of tone in such pictures 
was frequently the subject of praise. My father protested 
that, on the other hand, he had no fear that the new 
pictures would not also turn black in time, but he would 
not admit that this constituted an improvement. 

In putsuance of these principles, he employed for many 
years all the Frankfort artists : — the painter Hirt, who 
excelled in introducing cattle in oak and beech woods, and 
other so-called rural scenes ; Trautmann, who had adopted 
Rembrandt as his model, and had attained great perfection 
in illuminated interiors and reflections, as well as in effective 
conflagrations, so that he was once ordered to paint a com- 
panion-piece to a Rembrandt; SchOtz, a diligent painter 
of the Rhine country, in the manner of Sachtleben ; and 
JuNCKER, who executed flower and fruit pieces, still-life 
and quietly occupied figures with great clearness, after the 
model of the Dutch School. But now, by the change in 
our life, by more convenient accommodation, and still more 
by acquaintance with a skilful artist, my father's hobby was 
revived and encouraged. This artist was Seekatz, a pupil 
of Brinckmann, court-painter at Darmstadt, whose talents 
and character will be described in greater detail hereafter. 

In the mean time progress was made in the completion 
of the remaining rooms, according to their several purposes. 
Cleanliness and order prevailed throughout. Above all, the 
large panes of plate-glass contributed towards perfect light- 
ing, which had been wanting in the old house from various 



1749-55] THE EARTHQUAKE AT LISBON I9 

causes, but chiefly on account of the predominance of round 
windows. My father was cheerful on account of the success 
of his undertaking ; and if his good humour bad not been 
often disturbed because the diligence and care of the work- 
men did not satisfy his demands, a happier life than ours 
could not have been conceived, since much that contributed 
to this happiness originated within the family itself, or came 
to it from external sources. 

But an extraordinary event, affecting the whole world, 
deeply disturbed the boy's peace of mind, for the first time. 
On the I St of November, 1755, the earthquake at Lisbon 
occurred, and spread a mighty terror over the world, long 
accustomed to peace and quiet. A great and magnificent 
capital, at the same time a trading and maritime city, is 
smitten, without warning, by a most fearful calamity. The 
earth trembles and totters, the sea rages, ships are dashed 
together, houses collapse, churches and towers on the top 
of them, the royal palace is in part swallowed by the waters, 
the cleft earth seems to vomit flames, since smoke and fire 
are seen everywhere amid the ruins. Sixty thousand persons, 
a moment before in ease and comfort, are annihilated at once, 
and he is to be deemed most fortunate who was not allowed 
time for thought or consciousness of the disaster. The 
flames rage on, and with them rage a troop of desperadoes, 
who usually lurk in concealment, and who were set at large 
by this event. The wretched survivors are exposed to 
pillage, massacre, and every outrage : and thus, on all sides, 
Nature asserts her boundless caprice. 

Vague intimations of this event had spread far and wide 
more quickly than the authentic reports : slight shocks had 
been felt in many places : many springs, particularly those 
with medicinal properties, were seen to be much less full 
than usual; all the greater was the effect of the accounts 
thems^ves, which were rapidly circulated, at first in general 
terms, but finally with shocking details. Hereupon, the 
religious were ready with reflections, the philosophic with 
grounds for consolation, and the clergy with warnings. All 
this combined to turn the attention of the world for a 
time in this direction ; and, as additional and more detailed 
accounts of the far-reaching effects of this explosion came 
from every quarter, people whose minds were already 



20 POETRY AND TRUTH [part i. book t 

perturbed by the misfortunes of others, began to be more 
and more anxious about themselves and their friends. Per- 
haps at no other time has the demon of terror sent his 
tremors through the earth so rapidly and overwhelmingly. 

The boy, who had to listen to frequent repetitions of 
these events, was not a little shocked. God, the Creator 
and Preserver of Heaven and Earth, whom the explanation 
of the first article of the creed represented as so wise and 
benignant, had, by giving both the just and the unjust a 
prey to the same destruction, not manifested Himself, by 
any means, in a fatherly character. In vain his young mind 
strove to resist these impressions. It was the more im- 
possible, as the wise and devout could not themselves agree 
as to the light in which such a phenomenon should be 
regarded. 

The next summer gave a further opportunity of direct 
cognizance of that wrathful God, of whom the Old Testa- 
ment records so much. A sudden hail-storm, accompanied 
by thunder and lightning, burst with terrific violence and 
broke the new panes of plate-glass at the back of our house, 
which faced towards the west, damaged the new furniture, 
injured some highly prized books and other valuables. The 
storm seemed the more terrible to the children because the 
servants, quite beside themselves, dragged them into a dark 
passage, and there, falling on their knees, thought to con- 
ciliate the wrathful Deity by their frightful groans and cries. 
Meanwhile, my father, who alone retained his self-possession, 
forced open and lifted out the window-frames, and so saved 
many panes of glass, but opened a freer course to the torrent 
of rain that followed the hail, so that when at last we 
recovered ourselves, the passages and staircases were found 
to be swimming with streams of water. 

These events, startling as they were on the whole, did 
not greatly interrupt the systematic course of instruction 
which my father himself had undertaken to give us children. 
In his youth he had attended the Coburg Gymnasium, whi(^ 
occupied a leading position among German educational 
institutions. He had there been well grounded in languages, 
and other subjects reckoned part of a learned education, 
had subsequently applied himself to jurisprudence at Leipzig, 
and finally had taken his degree at Giessen. His dissertation, 



1749-551 JUVENILE STUDIES 21 

" Electa de aditione hereditatis^' thoughtfully and carefully 
written, still receives honorable mention from jurists. 

It is a pious wish di all fathers to see what they have 
themselves failed to attain, realized in their sons, as if they 
were in a manner living their lives over again, and could at 
last turn their early experience to account. Conscious of 
his acquirements, certain of unfailing perseverance, and 
distrusting the teachers of the day, my father undertook to 
instruct his children himself, only allowing them such special 
lessons from professional masters as seemed absolutely neces- 
sary. An educational dilettantism was already beginning to 
appear very generally. The pedantry and dreariness of the 
regular masters in the public schools was probably its 
source. There was a desire for something better, but no 
account was taken of the necessary imperfection of all 
instruction which is not given by trained teachers. 

My father had succeeded in his own career very much 
as he had wished : I was to follow the same course, only 
the way was to be easier and go further. He prized my 
natural endowments the more, because he was himself 
wanting in them ; for all his attainments were the result of 
incredible diligence, pertinacity, and repetition. He often 
assured me, early and late, in jest and in earnest, that with 
my talents he would have behaved very differently, and 
would not have wasted them so prodigally. 

By rapidly apprehending, assimilating, and retaining what 
I was taught, I very soon outgrew the instructions which my 
father and the other teachers were able to give, without 
being thoroughly grounded in anything. Grammar dis- 
pleased me, because I regarded it as a mere arbitrary law ; 
the rules seemed to me ridiculous, because they were invali- 
dated by so many exceptions, which had all to be learned 
by themselves. And but for the Latin primer in rhyme, 
I should have fared badly ; but as it was^ I enjoyed hum- 
ming and singing it to myself. We had, too, a geography 
in mnemonic verses, in which the most wretched doggerel 
best served to fix in our minds what we had to learn : e.g. : 

Upper- Yssel — many a fen, 
Makes it hateful to all men. 

For linguistic forms and usages I had a ready perception ; 



22 POETRY AND TRUTH [part i. book i 

and I also quickly realised what was involved in the concep- 
tion of a thing. In rhetorical exercises, set compositions, and 
similar tasks, no one excelled me, although I was often made 
to take a low place for faults of grammar. It was essays such 
as these that gave my father particular pleasure, and for 
which he often rewarded me with presents of money, con- 
siderable for such a lad. 

My father taught my sister Italian in the same room in 
which I had to commit Cellarius to memory. As I had 
soon ended my task, and yet was obliged to sit quiet, I 
listened with my book before me, and very readily picked 
up Italian, which struck me as an amusing variation of Latin. 

Other precocities, as regards memory and the power of 
connecting things, I possessed in common with other children 
who have attracted attention in early years by their powers. 
For that reason my father could scarcely await the time for 
me to go to college. He very soon declared, that I too 
must go to Leipzig, for which university he retained a 
strong predilection, and there study law as he had done, 
and I was afterwards to visit some other university and take 
my degree. With regard to this second university he was in- 
different which I should choose, except that he had for some 
reason a disinclination to Gottingen, to my great disappoint- 
ment ; for it was precisely Gottingen which had inspired me 
with confidence and raised high hopes within me. 

He told me further, that I was to go to Wetzlar and 
Ratisbon as well as to Vienna, and thence to Italy, although 
he repeatedly affirmed that Paris must be seen first, because 
on coming from Italy nothing after it could give pleasure. 

I loved to hear these tales of my future youthful career 
repeated, especially as they always ended in an account of 
Italy, and finally in a description of Naples. His usual 
gravity and dryness seemed on these occasions to be dispelled 
and to give place to animation, and thus a passionate wish 
awoke in us children that we might be admitted into the 
paradises he described. 

Private lessons, which gradually multiplied, were shared 
with the children of the neighbours. This learning in 
common did not help me on ; the teachers followed their 
accustomed routine; and the naughtiness, sometimes the 
ill-nature, of my companions, brought friction, annoyance, and 



1749-55] JUVENILE STUDIES 23 

interruptions into the brief hours of study. Chrestomathies, 
by which learning is made pleasant and varied, had not 
yet reached us. Neither Cornelius Nepos, so stiff for 
young people, nor the New Testament, which was too easy, 
and made almost common-place by sermons and scripture 
lessons, nor Cellarius and Pasor could awake any interest 
in us ; on the other hand, a kind of rage for rhym^ and 
versification, in consequence of reading contemporary Ger- 
man poets, took complete possession of us. I had been 
seized by it at an early date, when I had found amusement 
in discarding the rhetorical treatment of subjects for a 
poetical one. 

We boys used to hold Sunday meetings at which each of 
us had to produce original verses. And here a strange thing 
happened to me which long caused me uneasiness. My 
poems, of whatever kind, always seemed to me the best. 
But I soon noticed that my fellow-competitors, whose efforts 
were extremely lame, were in the same case, and were equally 
pleased with themselves. Nay, what appeared yet more sus- 
picious, a good lad (though absolutely without capacity for 
such trials of skill), to whom I was attached, had his rhymes 
made by his tutor, and still not only regarded these as the 
very best, but was thoroughly persuaded he had made them 
himself, as he always maintained to me in all sincerity, in 
spite of the more intimate footing in which we stood to one 
another. Now, when I saw this obvious illusion and error 
before me, one day the question forced itself upon me, 
whether I myself might not be in the same case, whether 
those poems were not really better than mine, and whether 
I might not justly appear to those boys as mad as they to 
me ? This disturbed me much and long ; for it was alto- 
gether impossible for me to find any external criterion of 
the truth ; even my productions came to a standstill, until at 
length I was reassured by my natural lightheartedness and 
the consciousness of my own powers, and lastly by a trial of 
skill — improvised by our teachers and parents whose atten- 
tion had been drawn to our pastime — in which I acquitted 
myself well and won general praise. 

No libraries for children had at that time been estab- 
lished. Their elders still had childish ideas, and did not 
trouble themselves to do more than impart their own 



24 POETRY AND TRUTH [part i. book i 

education to their successors. Except the Orbis Pictus of 
Amos Comenius, no book of its kind fell into our hands ; 
but we often turned over the leaves of the large folio Bible, 
with engravings by Merian ; . Gottfried's Chronicles, with 
plates by the same master, instructed us in the most notable 
events of universal history ; the Acerra Fhilologica added all 
sorts of fables, mythologies and wonders : and as I soon 
discovered Ovid's Metamorphoses, the first books of which 
in particular I studied carefully, my young brain was com- 
paratively early furnished with a mass of pictures and events, 
of significant and wonderful figures and occurrences, and 
I never felt time hang heavy on my hands, as I always 
occupied myself in assimilating, repeating, and reproducing 
what I had acquired. 

A more moral and elevating effect than that of these 
somewhat coarse and questionable antiquities, was produced 
by Fenelon's Telemaque^ with which I first became acquainted 
in Neukirch's translation, and which, in spite of its imperfect 
rendering, had a sweet and beneficent influence on my mind. 
That Robinson Crusoe was added betimes, follows in the 
nature of things ; and it may be imagined that the Island of 
Felsenberg was not omitted. Lord Anson's Voyage round the 
W^^r/df combined the dignity of truth with the imaginativeness 
of a fairy tale, and while accompanying this excellent seaman 
in thought, we were conducted over all the world, and en- 
deavoured to follow him with our fingers on the globe. But 
a still richer harvest lay before me when I lighted on a 
mass of writings, which cannot, it is true, be called excellent 
in their present state, but by their contents show us, in an 
innocent way, much that is admirable in former times. 

The publication, or rather the manufacture, of those 
books which at a later day became so well known and 
celebrated under the name of Volksschnften^ Volksbiicher 
(popular works or chap-books), was carried on in Frankfort 
itself. The immense demand for them led to their being 
printed from stereotypes on the most hideous absorbent paper, 
so that they were barely legible. We children were lucky 
to find these precious survivals from the Middle Ages every 
day on a little table at the door of a vendor of old books, 
and to make them our own for a few kreutzer. The Eulen- 
spiegel, the Four Sons of Aymon, the Fair Melusina, the 



1749-55] DISEASES OF CHILDHOOD 2$ 

Emperor Octavian, the Beautiful Magelone, Fortunatus, and 
all the rest of them down to the Wandering Jew, were at 
our service, whenever we coveted such works in preference 
to sweet-meats. One great advantage was, that when we had 
read, worn out, or otherwise damaged such a sheets it could 
easily be procured again and devoured anew. 

As a sudden thunderstorm proves a disastrous interrup- 
tion to a family picnic in summer, transforming everyone's 
enjoyment into the very reverse, so childish ailments break 
in unexpectedly upon the most beautiful season of early 
life. Nor was it otherwise with me. I had just pur- 
chased Fortunatus with his Purse and Wishing-Cap, when 
I was attacked by discomfort and feverishness, the fore- 
runners of small-pox. Inoculation was still considered with 
us a very doubtful expedient, and although it had already 
been intelligibly and urgently recommended by popular 
writers, the German physicians hesitated to perform an 
operation that seemed to forestall nature. Speculative 
Englishmen, therefore, had come to the continent, and for 
a considerable fee had vaccinated the children of such persons 
as were well-to-do and free from prejudice. Still, the majority 
were exposed to the old disease ; the infection raged through 
whole families, killed or disfigured many children ; and few 
parents dared to avail themselves of the new remedy, although 
its probable efficacy had been confirmed in many cases by 
the result. The disease now invaded our house and attacked 
me with unusual severity. My whole body was covered with 
spots, and my face irrecognisable, and for several days I lay 
unable to see and in great pain. They tried all possible 
alleviations, and promised me mountains of gold if I would 
keep quiet and not increase the mischief by rubbing and 
scratching. I controlled myself, while, according to the 
prevailing prejudice, we were kept as warm as possible, 
which only made our suffering more acute. At last, after a 
woeful time, there fell a kind of mask from my face. The 
blotches had left no visible mark upon the skin, but the 
features were noticeably altered. Personally, I was only too 
thankful to see the light of day again, and to gradually lose 
my spotted skin ; but others were so unkind as to remind me 
often of my previous condition; especially a very lively 
aunt, who had formerly idolized me, but who even in after 



26 POETRY AND TRUTH [part i. book i 

years could seldom look at me without exclaiming — " Fie, 
nephew ! what a fright you've grown ! " Then she would 
tell me circumstantially how I had once been her delight, 
and what attention she had attracted when she carried me 
about ; and thus I early learned that people very often make 
us pay dearly for the pleasure which we have afforded 
them. 

I escaped neither measles, nor chicken-pox, nor what- 
ever the other torments of childhood may be ; and I was 
assured each time that it was a good thing that this malady 
was now done with once for alL But, alas ! another was 
already threatening me in the background, and attacked me. 
All these things increased my propensity to reflection ; and 
as I had often practised endurance, in order to overcome 
the torture of impatience, the virtues which I had heard 
praised in the Stoics appeared to me highly worthy of 
imitation, all the more as they resembled the Christian 
virtue of patience. 

While on the subject of family illnesses, I will mention 
a brother about three years younger than myself, who was 
likewise attacked by the same infection, and suffered greatly 
from it. He was naturally delicate, quiet and self-willed, 
and we were never great friends. Besides, he hardly lived 
beyond infancy. Of several younger children, who like him 
did not live long, I only remember a very pretty and 
attractive little girl, who also soon passed away; so. that, 
after the lapse of some years, my sister and I were left 
alone, and were all the more deeply and affectionately 
attached to each other. 

These maladies and other impleasant interruptions were 
doubly irksome in their consequences ; for my father, who 
seemed to have drawn up a kind of calendar of education 
and instruction, was anxious to make up every omission 
immediately, and imposed double lessons upon the young 
convalescents. It is true I did not find them hard, but 
they were unwelcome in so far as they retarded and to 
some extent repressed my natural development, which had 
begun to follow independent lines. 

From these didactic and pedagogic inflictions, we usually 
escaped to my grandfather and grandmother. Their house 
stood in the Friedberg Street, and appeared to have once 



1749-55] GOETHE'S MATERNAL GRANDFATHER 2/ 

been a fortress; for, on approaching it, nothing was seen 
but a large battlemented gate, flanked on either side by 
neighbours' houses. After entering, a narrow passage led 
eventually into a fair-sized courtyard, surrounded by irregulai; 
buildings, which were now joined together to form one 
dwelling. We usually hastened at once into the garden, 
which covered a considerable area behind the buildings, 
and was very well kept Most of the walks were bordered 
by vine trellises; one part of the garden was used for 
vegetables, and another devoted to flowers which bloomed 
in rich succession from spring till autumn in the borders as 
well as in the beds. The long wall facing south was used 
for well-trained espalier peach-trees, on which forbidden 
fruit ripened temptingly under our eyes through the summer. 
But we preferred to avoid this side, because we could not 
satisfy our greediness there, and to turn to the opposite side, 
where an interminable row of currant and gooseberry bushes 
furnished our hungry mouths with a succession of fruit till 
autumn. No less prized by us was a tall wide-spreading old 
mulberry-tree, both on account of its fruit, and because we 
were told that silk-worms were fed upon its leaves. In this 
peaceful region my grandfather was to be found every 
evening, busy and happy amidst the fruit and flowers, per- 
forming the more delicate gardening operatioi:is with his 
own hands, whilst the rougher work was left to a gardener. 
He never wearied of the various processes necessary for 
keeping up and improving a fine bed of carnations. The 
branches of the peach-trees were carefully trained along the 
espaliers with his own hands in fan-shape, in order to 
encourage the abundant and convenient growth of the fruit. 
The sorting of the bulbs of tulips, hyacinths, and kindred 
plants, as well as their storage, he would entrust to no one ; 
and I still recall with pleasure how busily he occupied him- 
self with grafting the different varieties of roses. As a 
protection against the thorns, he put on a pair of those 
ancient leather gloves, of which three pair were given him 
annually at the Pipers' Court, so that he was always well 
supplied with them. He also wore a toga-like dressing- 
gown, and an ample black velvet cap upon his head, so that 
he looked like a combination of Alcinous and Laertes. 
All these gardening pursuits were carried on by my 



28 POETRY AND TRUTH [part r. book i 

grandfather as regularly and punctiliously as his official 
business ; for, before he came down, he had always made 
out the list of causes for the next day, and read up the 
documents relating to the cases. Then he always drove 
in the morning to the Town Hall, dined on his return, 
afterwards nodded in his easy-chair, and thus each day was 
like the next. He spoke little, never showed any sign of 
passion, and I do not remember ever to have seen him 
angry. All his surroundings were old-fashioned. I never 
perceived any innovation in his wainscotted room. His 
library contained, besides law works, only the earliest books 
of travel, sea voyages, and discoveries of countries. Alto- 
gether I can call to mind no manner of life so apt to awaken 
a feeling of inviolable peace and endless duration. 

But the reverence which we entertained for this venerable 
old man was immensely increased by the conviction that he 
possessed the gift of prophecy, especially in matters that 
pertained to himself and his destiny. It is true he made 
no definite and explicit statements to any one except my 
grandmother ; yet we were all aware that he was informed 
of what was going to happen by significant dreams. He 
assured his wife, for instance, at a time when he was still a 
junior Councillor, that when the next vacancy occurred on 
the bench of the Schoffen, he would be elected to fill it ; and 
soon afterwards when, as a matter of fact, one of these 
ofl&cials died of apoplexy, my grandfather gave orders, on 
the day of selection and final balloting, that his house 
should be quietly got ready to receive his guests and con- 
gratulators. Sure enough, the decisive gold ball was drawn 
in his favour. The simple dream by which he had learned 
this was, he confided to his wife, as follows : he had seen 
himself in an ordinary meeting of the whole Council, w^here 
all went on just as usual. Suddenly, the Schbff^ who had 
since died, rose from his seat, descended the steps, and with 
a most polite bow invited him to take the place he had 
vacated, and then departed by the door. 

A similar incident occurred on the death of the Schul- 
theiss. It is usual to fill this office without delay, for fear 
the Emperor should some day resume his ancient right 
of nominating the Schultheiss, On this occasion, the 
messenger of the Council came at midnight to summon an 



1749-55] GOETHE'S MATERNAL GRANDFATHER 29 

extraordinary session for the next morning; and as the 
light in his lantern was almost out, he asked for a candle- 
end to enable him to continue his way. " Give him a whole 
one," said my grandfather to the womenfolk, "he is work- 
ing on my behalf." The subsequent event accorded with 
this statement — he was made Schtdtheiss ; and what rendered 
the circumstance particularly remarkable was, that although 
his representative was the third and last to draw at the 
balloting, the two silver balls were drawn first, leaving the 
golden ball at the bottom of the bag for him. 

Perfectly prosaic, simple, and without a trace of the 
fantastic or miraculous, were, too, the other dreams, of which 
we heard. Further, I remember that once, as a boy, I was 
rummaging among his books and memoranda, and found 
among other notes which had to do with gardening, such 
sentences as these: "To-night N. N. came to me and 

said " the name and revelation being written in cipher ; 

or " This night I saw " all the rest being again in cipher 

except the conjunctions and similar words from which 
nothing could be inferred. 

It is worthy of note, also, that persons who at other 
times showed no trace of prophetic insight acquired under 
his direct influence a momentary power of receiving pre- 
monitions, by the evidence of their senses, of sickness or 
deaths which were then occurring at a distance. But no 
such gift has been transmitted to any of his children or 
grandchildren; rather have they been for the most part 
robust people, enjoying life, and concerned solely with 
realities. 

In alluding to them, I recall with gratitude many kind- 
nesses I received from them in my youth. Thus, for 
exainple, we were provided with various occupations and 
amusements when we visited the second daughter, married 
to the grocer Melber, whose house and shop stood near the 
market in the midst of the busiest and most crowded part 
of the town. There we enjoyed looking down from the 
windows upon the hurly-burly in which we were afraid to 
mingle; and though, at first, among all the goods in the 
shop, we were only deeply interested in the liquorice, and 
the little brown stamped tablets made from it, in course of 
time we became acquainted with the multitude of articles 



30 POETRY AND TRUTH [part i. book i 

bought and sold in a business of the kind. This aunt was 
the most vivacious of all the family. While my mother, in 
her early years, took pleasure in sitting neatly dressed over 
some delicate fancy-work, or in reading a book, my aunt, 
on the contrary, would drive about the neighbourhood pick- 
ing up neglected children, caring for them, brushing and 
combing them, and carrying them about, as indeed she had 
done with me for a good while. On the occasion of any 
public festivity, such as a coronation, it was impossible to 
keep her at home. Even as a little child, she had scrambled 
for the money scattered on such occasions; and it was 
related of her, that once when she had got a goodly number 
of coins together, and was looking at them with great 
delight in the palm of her hand, some one pushed against 
her, and all her dearly acquired booty vanished at a blow. 
There was another incident of which she was very proud. 
Once, while standing on a kerbstone as the Emperor 
Charles VII. was passing, at a moment when all the people 
were silent, she shouted a vigorous " Vivat 1 " into the 
coach, which made him take off his hat to her, and thank 
her very graciously for her bold salutation. 

In her house, too, everything around her was full of 
movement, life, and gaiety, and we children owed many a 
happy hour to her. 

A more peaceful life, which, however, accorded with her 
disposition, was led by a second aunt, married to Pastor 
Starck, pastor of St. Catherine's Church. He lived much 
alone, in conformity with his temperament and vocation, and 
possessed a fine library. Here I first made acquaintance 
with Homer, in a prose translation given in the seventh 
part of Herr Von Loen*s New Collection of the most fiotahle 
Travels^ under the title Homer's Description of the Conquest 
of the Kingdom of Troy^ ornamented with copper-plates in 
the style of the French stage. These pictures perverted my 
imagination to such an extent, that for a long time I could 
only picture the Homeric heroes in these forms. The 
incidents themselves gave me unspeakable delight ; though 
I found great fault with the work for giving no account of 
the taking of Troy, and for ending so abruptly with the death 
of Hector. My uncle, to whom I mentioned this defect, 
referred me to Virgil, who satisfied my demands perfectly. 



1749-55] RELIGIOUS INSTRUCTION 3 1 

It goes without saying that we children received among 
other lessons, regular and progressive instruction in religion. 
But the Church-Protestantism imparted to us was, properly 
speaking, nothing but a kind of dry morality: no one 
dreamt of presenting it in an interesting form; and the 
doctrines failed to satisfy either soul or heart. Hence there 
were various secessions from the Established Church. Sepa- 
ratists, Pietists, Moravians, and whatever else their names 
and titles might be, sprang into being, all animated by the 
common desire of drawing nearer to the Deity, especially 
through Christ, than seemed to them possible under the 
forms of the established religion. 

The boy heard these opinions and sentiments constantly 
spoken of ; for the clergy as well as the laity took sides for 
and against. Those who dissented more or less widely were 
always in the minority, but their mode of thought was 
attractive from its originality, sincerity, constancy, and inde- 
pendence. All sorts of stories were told of their virtues and 
of the way in which they were manifested. The reply of a 
pious master-tinman was especially well-known, who, when 
one of his fellow-craftsmen thought to put him to shame by 
asking him who was his father confessor, answered cheer- 
fully, confident in the goodness of his cause — "A very 
distinguished one — no less a person than the confessor of 
King David." 

Things of this sort naturally made an impression on the 
boy, and encouraged him in similar ways of thinking. In 
fact, the idea occurred to him of directly approaching the 
great God of Nature, the Creator and Preserver of Heaven 
and Earth, whose earlier manifestations of wrath had been 
long forgotten in the beauty of the world and the manifold 
blessings granted us in it. The way he took to attain this 
end was very curious. 

The boy had chiefly concentrated his attention upon the 
first article of the creed. The God who stands in imme- 
diate connection with nature, and recognizes and loves it as 
His handiwork, seemed to him the real God, who might 
enter into closer relationship with man, as with everything 
else, and who would make him His care, as well as the 
motion of the stars, times and seasons, plants and animals. 
There were passages in the Gospels which explicitly stated 



32 POETRY AND TRUTH [part i. book i 

this. The boy could ascribe no form to this Being; he 
therefore sought Him in His works, and desired to build 
Him an altar in true Old Testament fashion. Natural 
productions were to represent the world symbolically ; above 
these a flame was to burn, signifying the aspiration of man's 
heart towards his Maker. From his natural history museum, 
gradually stocked as opportunity occurred, the boy brought 
out his best samples of ore and other specimens ; but now 
came the difficulty — how to arrange them and build them up 
into a pile. His father possessed a beautiful red lacquered 
music-stand, ornamented with gilt flowers, in the form of a 
four-sided pyramid with ledges at various heights, which 
had proved convenient for quartets, but had been little used 
latterly. The boy possessed himself of this stand, and built 
up his representatives of Nature one above the other in 
tiers, so that the result was pleasing, and at the same time 
impressive. The first act of worship was to take place at 
early sunrise, but the young priest had not yet made up his 
mind how to produce a flame which should at the same time 
emit an agreeable odour. A method of attaining these two 
ends at last occurred to him, for he possessed a few fumi- 
gating tapers, which if they did not make a flame, yet diffused 
a pleasant fragrance as they smouldered. Indeed, this gentle 
burning and exhalation seemed a more fitting symbol of 
what passes in the soul than an actual flame. The sun had 
risen long before, but the neighbouring houses shut out the 
east. At last it rose above the roofs ; forthwith a burning- 
glass was applied and kindled the tapers, which were placed 
at the top of his erection in a beautiful china saucer. Every- 
thing succeeded according to his heart's desire, and his 
religious service was complete. The altar was left standing 
as a special ornament in the room which had been assigned 
him in the new house. Every one regarded it as merely an 
ornamental collection of natural curiosities. The boy knew 
better, but concealed his knowledge. He longed for a 
repetition of the ceremony. But unfortunately, just as the 
sun rose most favourably, the porcelain saucer was not at 
hand ; he placed the tapers directly on the upper surface of 
the stand ; they were kindled, and so great was the devotion 
of the priest, that he did not observe, until it was too late, 
the mischief his sacrifice was doing. The tapers had burned 



1749-55] THE BOY PRIEST 33 

mercilessly into the red lacquer and beautiful gold flowers, as 
if some evil spirit had been there, and left black, ineffaceable 
footprints. This disaster caused the young priest extreme 
embarrassment. The damage could be concealed, it was 
true, by the larger specimens, but he had lost heart for new 
offerings, and the accident might almost be considered an 
indication and warning as to the danger which subsists in 
attempting to approach the Deity in such a way. 



vol.. T, 



SECOND BOOK 

All that has been hitherto recorded indicates that happy 
and comfortable state of things in which nations exist during 
a long peace. But nowhere probably is a delightful time 
of this sort enjoyed with greater satisfaction than in cities 
living under their own laws, large enough to contain a con- 
siderable number of citizens, and so conveniently situated 
as to enrich them by trade and commerce. Strangers find 
it to their advantage to come and go, and are under a 
necessity of conferring benefits in order to receive others in 
return. Even if such cities have but limited territory at their 
command, they are the better qualified to advance their in- 
ternal prosperity, as their external relations do not pledge 
them to costly undertakings or alliances. 

Thus, the Frankforters passed a series of prosperous 
years during my childhood ; but scarcely had I completed 
my seventh year, on the 28th of August, 1756, than the war 
of world-wide interest broke out, which was destined to 
exert a great influence upon the next seven years of my life. 
Frederick II., King of Prussia, had invaded Saxony with 
sixty thousand men ; and instead of prefacing his invasion 
by a declaration of war, he followed it up with a manifesto, 
said to be composed by himself, which stated the motives 
for and the justification of so tremendous a step. The 
world, which felt itself called upon to be judge as well as 
spectator, immediately split into two parties, and our family 
did but reflect the attitude of the larger whole. 

My grandfather, who, as Schoff of Frankfort, had carried 
the coronation canopy over Francii^L, and had received 
from the Empress a heavy gold chain with her likeness, 
took the Austrian side, along with several sons-in-law and 
daughters. My father having been nominated to the Im- 
perial Council by Charles VII., and sympathizing sincerely 

7A 



1756-58] FAMILY DISPUTES 35 

in the fate of that unhappy monarch, had Prussian lean- 
ings, with the other and smaller half of the family. The 
gatherings which had taken place on Sundays for many years 
without a break, were very soon disturbed. The misunder- 
standings, so common among relatives by marriage, for the 
first time took definite form and found expression. There 
were contentions, discord, silence, and outbursts of anger. 
My grandfather, otherwise a serene, quiet, and easy man, 
became impatient. The women vainly endeavoured to 
smother the flames ; and after some unpleasant scenes my 
father was the first to withdraw from the company of the 
others. We were now free at home to rejoice in the 
Prussian victories, which were usually announced with great 
jubilation by our excitable aunt. Every other interest had 
to give way to this, and we passed the rest of the year in 
constant agitation. The occupation of Dresden, the King's 
moderation at the outset, his slow but sure progress, the 
victory at Lowositz, the capture of the Saxons, were but so 
many triumphs for our party. Whatever was adduced to 
the advantage of our opponents was contradicted or be- 
littled; and as the opposite faction did the like, it was 
impossible to meet in the streets without disputes arising, as 
in Romeo and Juliet. 

So it was that my sympathies were on the side of 
Prussia, or more accurately, of Fritz ; for what cared we for 
Prussia? It was the personality of the great King that 
impressed everyone. I rejoiced with my father in our 
conquests, willingly copied the songs of victory, and perhaps 
yet more willingly the lampoons directed against the other 
side, poor as the rhymes might be. 

As the eldest grandson and godchild, I had dined every 
Sunday since my infancy with my grandparents, and the 
hours so spent were the happiest ones of the whole week. 
But now I could not enjoy a single morsel, because I was 
compelled to listen to the most horrible slanders on my 
hero. The whole atmosphere and tone of the place was 
different from that of my own home. My affection and 
even my respect for my grandfather and grandmother 
diminished. I could say nothing about it to my parents, 
partly because of my own feelings, and also because my 
mother had warned me not to do so. In this way I was 



36 POETRY AND TRUTH [part i. book ii 

thrown back upon myself; and as in my sixth year, after the 
earthquake at Lisbon, my faith in the goodness of God had 
been shaken, in the same way I now began, d propos of 
Frederick II., to doubt the justice of the public. My heart 
was naturally inclined to reverence, and it required a great 
shock to shatter my faith in anything that was venerable. 
Unfortunately, good manners and proper behaviour had 
been held up before us, not for their own sake, but for 
the sake of other people. What would people say? was 
always the cry, and I thought that people must be really 
good people, and would know the right and wrong of 
everything. But my experience was all the other way. 
The greatest and most signal services were defamed and 
attacked; the noblest deeds, if not denied, were at least 
misrepresented and depreciated; and this base injustice 
was done to the one man who was manifestly superior 
to all his contemporaries, and who was daily proving 
and demonstrating his powers, — and not by the populace, 
but by distinguished men, as I took my grandfather and 
uncles to be. Of the existence of parties, and that he 
himself belonged to a party, the boy had no conception. 
His belief in the justness of his position and the superiority 
of his opinions was strengthened by the fact that he and 
those of like mind appreciated the beauty and other good 
qualities of Maria Theresa, and bore no grudge against 
the Emperor Francis for his love of jewelry and money. 
That Count Daun was often called an old dozer, they 
thought justifiable. 

But now that I consider the matter more closely, I can 
discover here the germ of that disregard and even contempt 
for the public, which clung to me for a whole period of my 
life, and only in later days was corrected by insight and 
culture. Suffice it to say, that even at this early date the 
consciousness of party injustice had a very unpleasant, even 
an injurious effect upon the boy, by causing him to keep 
away from those he loved and honoured. The quick suc- 
cession of military exploits and other events did not allow 
either party any peace or quiet. We took a malicious 
delight in reviving and embittering those imaginary wrongs 
and capricious disputes; and thus we continued to make 
ourselves unhappy, until a few years later the occupation 



1756-58] INDOOR AMUSEMENTS 37 

of Frankfort by the French brought real inconvenience into 
our homes. 

Although to most of us the important events occurring 
at a distance served only for topics of passionate discussion, 
there were others who perceived the gravity of the times, 
and feared that in the case of France joining in the 
hostilities, our own neighbourhood might become the scene 
of war. We children were kept at home more than before, 
and various means for occupying and amusing us were 
devised. To this end, the puppet-show bequeathed by our 
grandmother was set up again, and so arranged that the 
spectators could sit in my gable-room, while the actors and 
managers of the plays, as well as the stage including the 
proscenium, were placed in an adjoining room. We were 
allowed, as a special favour, to invite first one and then 
another of the neighbours' children as spectators, and thus 
at the outset I gained many friends; but the restlessness 
inherent in children, made it impossible for them to remain 
passive spectators for long. They interrupted the play, arid 
we were compelled to seek a younger audience, which could 
at any rate be kept in order by the nurses and maids. The 
original drama, for which the marionettes had been specially 
designed, we had learned by heart, and at first this was the 
only play we performed. However, we soon wearied of it, 
we changed the dresses and decorations, and ventured upon 
various other pieces, on too grand a scale for so small a 
stage it is true. Although by our ambitiousness we weakened 
and in the end quite spoiled the effect of our performances, 
these childish amusements nevertheless developed my powers 
of invention and representation in various ways, and called 
my imagination and a certain technical skill into play, to a 
degree which could not perhaps have been attained in any 
other way in so short a time, in so confined a space, and 
at so little expense. 

I had early learned to use compasses and ruler in making 
immediate practical application of all instruction given me 
in geometry, and pasteboard-work was an unfailing source of 
occupation. I was not content with geometrical figures, 
little boxes, and such things, but invented pretty summer- 
houses, adorned with pilasters, flights of steps, and flat roofs. 
However, but few of them were completed. 



38 POETRY AND TRUTH [part i. book ii 

On the other hand, I was far more persevering in 
arranging an armoury with the help of our man-servant (a 
tailor by trade), for the use of our plays and tragedies, 
which we delighted in performing ourselves when we had 
outgrown the puppets. My playfellows, too, manufactured 
similar suits of armour for themselves, which they con- 
sidered quite as splendid and as good as mine; but I 
had not been satisfied with providing for the wants of one 
person only, and could furnish several of the little band 
with every requisite, and had thus made myself more and 
more indispensable to our little circle. That such games 
led to factions, disputes, and blows^ and usually came to a 
sad end with quarrelling and anger, may easily be supposed. 
In such cases there were some of my companions who 
generally took my part and others the opposite side ; though 
changes of party frequently occurred. One particular boy, 
whom I will call Pylades, only once left my party, at the 
instigation of the others, and then with difficulty remained 
in opposition to me for a moment. We were reconciled 
amid many tears, and for a long time remained faithful 
friends. 

To him, as well as other well-disposed comrades, I could 
give great pleasure by telling tales, which they liked 
especially when I was the hero of my own story. It pleased 
them very much to think that such wonderful things could 
befall one of their own playfellows ; the difficulty I must 
have in finding time and opportunity for such adventures 
did not rouse their suspicions, although they must have been 
pretty well aware of all my comings and goings, and how I 
spent my time. The scenes, too, of these doings, had to be 
laid, if not in another world, at least in another locaUty ; and 
yet all was said to have taken place only to-day or yesterday. 
Thus they were the victims of their own self-deception 
rather than of my guile. If I had not gradually learned, in 
accordance with the instincts of my nature, to work up these 
visionary shapes and idle fancies into artistic form, such 
braggadocio beginnings could not have been without ill 
effects for me. 

If we consider this story-telling impulse carefully, we 
may recognize in it the same arrogance which we find in the 
poet who, when he presents even the greatest improbabilities, 



1756-58] THE NEW PARIS 39 

will not allow his authority to be questioned or the reality 
of anything doubted that he, the inventor, regards as true 
under any aspect. 

These general statements, introduced as a reflection by 
the way, will perhaps become plainer and more interesting 
if an example is given. I subjoin, therefore, one of these 
tales, which, as I often had to repeat it to my comrades, 
still lives clearly in my imagination and memory. 



THE NEW PARIS 

A boy's fairy tale 

Not long since, the night before Whit Sunday, I dreamed 
I was standing before a mirror, busy with the new summer 
clothes which my dear parents had given me for the holiday. 
The dress consisted, as you know, of shoes of polished 
leather, with large silver buckles, fine cotton stockings, 
breeches of black serge, and a coat of green baracan with 
gold buttons. The waistcoat of gold cloth was cut out of 
my father's wedding waistcoat. My hair had been dressed 
and powdered, and my curls stuck out from my head like 
little wings ; but I could not finish dressing myself, because 
I kept confusing the different articles, and because the first 
always dropped off just as I was about to put on the second. 
In this dilemma, a handsome young man came to me, and 
greeted me in the most cordial manner. " O ! you are 
welcome 1 " said I, "I am very glad to see you here." 
" Do you know me, then ? " replied he, smiling. " Why 
not ? " was my no less smiling answer ; " you are Mercury — I 
have seen you often enough in pictures." " I am, indeed," 
replied he; "and am sent to you by the gods on an 
important errand. Do you see these three apples?" — he 
stretched out his hand, and showed me three apples 
which he could scarcely hold, and which were as remark- 
ably beautiful as they were large, the one red, the second 
yellow, the third green in colour. One could not help 



40 POETRY AND TRUTH [part i. book ii 

thinking they were precious stones made in the forin of 
fruit. I would have snatched them, but he drew back, and 
said, " You must know, in the first place, that they are not 
for you. You are to give them to the three handsomest 
youths of the city, who will then each, according to his lot, 
find a wife after his own heart. Take them, and do your 
part well," said he as he departed, and placed the apples in 
my open hands. They appeared to me to have become 
still larger. I held them up at once against the light and 
found them quite transparent; but soon they expanded 
upwards, and became three beautiful, beautiful, little ladies, 
about the size of moderately large dolls, whose clothes were 
of the colours the apples had been. They glided gently 
upwards along my fingers, and when I was about to clutch 
at them, to make sure of one at least, they had already soared 
far away into the air, and all I could do was to gaze after 
them. I stood there dumbfounded with amazement, still 
holding up my hands and staring at my fingers, as if there 
were something to see on them. Suddenly I beheld, upon 
the very tips, a most lovely girl dancing, smaller than the 
other three, but very pretty and lively, and as she did not 
fly away like the others, but stayed and danced, stepping to 
and fro, now qn one finger-tip, now on another, I watched 
her for a long while with admiration. As she pleased me 
so much, I thought I might catch her at last, and made as 
I fancied a very adroit attempt to grasp her. But the same 
moment I felt such a blow on my head, that I fell down 
stunned, and did not awake from my stupor till it was time 
to dress myself and go to church. 

During the service I kept on recalling what I had seen 
in my dream ; so too while I was eating my dinner at my 
grandfather's table. In the afternoon, I wished to visit some 
friends, partly to show myself in my new dress, with my hat 
under my arm and my sword by my side, and partly to 
return their visits. I found no one at home, and, as I heard 
that they were gone to the gardens, I resolved to follow 
them^ and have a pleasant evening. My way led along the 
ramparts, and I came to the part which is rightly called the 
Bad Wall ; for it is never quite canny there. I walked slowly, 
and thought of my three goddesses, but especially of the 
little nymph ; and often held up my fingers, in hopes she 



1756-58] THE NEW PARIS 4 1 

would be so kind as to balance herself on them again. As 
I went on my way with such thoughts, I noticed on my left 
hand a little gate in the wall, which I did not remember to 
have ever seen before. It looked low, but the pointed arch 
above it would have allowed the tallest man to enter. Arch 
and wall had been most delicately chiselled by mason and 
sculptor; but it was the door itself which particularly 
attracted my attention. The old brown wood, only slightly 
ornamented, was bound with broad bands of brass, wrought 
in relief and intaglio. I could not sufficiently admire the 
foliage on them, and the most natural birds sitting in it 
But, what seemed to me most remarkable, no keyhole was 
to be seen, no latch, no knocker; and from this I con- 
jectured that the door could be opened only from the 
inside. I was not mistaken, for when I went nearer, in 
order to feel the ornaments, it opened inwards, and there 
appeared a man, the style of whose dress was long, 
ample, and peculiar. A venerable beard enveloped his 
chin, so that I was inclined to think him a Jew. But he, 
as if he had divined my thoughts, made the sign of the 
Cross, by which he gave me to understand that he was a 
good Catholic. "Young gentleman, how came you here, 
and what are you doing ? " — he said to me, with friendly 
voice and manner. "I am admiring," I replied, "the 
workmanship of this door ; for I have never seen anything 
like it, except fragments in the collections of amateurs." 
" I am glad," he answered, " that you like such work. The 
door is much more beautiful inside. Come in, if you 
please." I was not without misgivings. The strange garb 
ot the porter, the seclusion, and an indefinable something 
that seemed to be in the air, oppressed me. I paused, 
therefore, under the pretext of examining the outside still 
longer ; and at the same time I cast stealthy glances into the 
garden, for a garden it was which had opened before me. 
Just inside the door I saw a large, shady enclosure. Old 
lime-trees, standing at regular intervals, entirely covered it 
with their thickly interwoven branches, so that the most 
numerous parties might have enjoyed its refreshing shade 
during the hottest part of the day. I was already on the 
threshold, and the old man contrived to lure me on step by 
step. Nor did I resist ; for I had always heard that in such 



42 POETRY AND TRUTH [part i. book ii 

cases a prince or sultan must never ask whether there be 
any danger. I had my sword by my side, too ; and could 
I not quickly despatch the old man, if he were to show 
hostile intentions ? I therefore entered without anxiety ; 
the keeper closed the door, which fastened so softly that 1 
scarcely heard it. He now showed me the ornamental 
work on the inside, which was in truth far more artistic than 
that on the outside, explained it, and at the same time 
manifested particular good-will towards me. Entirely re- 
assured, I let him conduct me in the shaded enclosure along 
by the wall that formed a circle round it, and in which I 
found much to admire. From recesses, tastefully adorned 
with shells, corals, and pieces of ore, water poured plenti- 
fully out of the mouths of Tritons into marble basins. 
Between them were aviaries and other lattice-work cages, in 
which squirrels frisked about, guinea-pigs ran hither and 
thither, and whatever other pretty little creatures one would 
wish to see. The birds called and sang to us as we 
advanced; the starlings especially chattered the silliest 
stuff. One always cried, Paris ! Paris ! and the other 
Narcissus I Narcissus ! as plainly as any schoolboy can say 
them. The old man seemed to look at me earnestly every 
time the birds called out these names, but I pretended not to 
notice it, and had in truth no time to attend to him ; for I 
now saw that we were making a circuit, and that this shaded 
enclosure was in fact a great ring, which inclosed another 
much larger space. Indeed, we had actually reached the 
small door again, and it seemed as though the old man 
meant to let me out. But my eyes remained directed 
towards a golden railing, which seemed to fence in the 
middle of this wonderful garden, and which I had ample 
opportunity for observing during our walk, although the old 
man contrived to keep me always close to the wall, and 
therefore at some distance from the centre. So now, just as 
he was turning towards the door, I said to him, with a bow, 
"You have been so extremely kind to me that I would 
fain venture to make one more request before I leave you. 
Might I examine that golden railing more closely, which 
appears to inclose the interior of the garden with a very 
wide circle ? " " Most certainly," he replied : " but in that 
case you must submit to certain conditions." " In what do 



1756-58] THE NEW PARIS 43 

they consist ? " I asked hastily. " You must leave your hat 
and sword here, and must not let go my hand while I 
accompany you." "Most willingly," I replied; and laid 
my hat and sword on the nearest stone bench. Immedi- 
ately he grasped my left hand with his right, held it fast, 
and led me almost forcibly straight forwards. When we 
reached the railing, my wonder changed to amazement ! I 
had never seen anything of the kind before. On a high 
socle of marble stood innumerable spears and partisans, 
ranged side by side, their strangely ornamented points 
fastened together, and forming a complete circle. I looked 
through the chinks, and saw just beyond them a gently 
flowing stream of water^ bounded on both sides by marble, 
and displaying in its clear depths a multitude of gold 
and silver fish, moving to and fro, now slowly and now 
swiftly, now singly and now in shoals. I should have 
liked, alsOj to look beyond the stream, to see what there 
was in the heart of the garden. But I found, to my great 
sorrow, that the other side of the water was bordered by 
a similar railing, so cunningly contrived that a spear or 
partisan on the other side exactly corresponded to each 
space on this side. These and the other ornaments 
rendered it impossible for one to see through^ stand as one 
would. Besides, the old man, who still held me fast, pre- 
vented me from moving freely. Meanwhile, my curiosity, 
after all that I had seen, increased more and more ; and I 
summoned up courage to ask the old man whether it would 
not be possible to pass over. " Why not ? " returned he, 
" but on new conditions." When I asked him what these 
were, he gave me to understand that I must put on other 
clothes. I was quite ready to do so; he led me back 
towards the wall, into a neat little room, on the walls of 
which hung many kinds of garments, all of which seemed 
to approach the oriental style. I had soon changed my 
dress. He confined my powdered hair under a many- 
coloured net, after having to my horror thoroughly brushed 
out the powder. However, standing before a great mirror, 
I thought myself quite handsome in my disguise, and liked 
myself better than in my formal Sunday clothes, I made 
gestures and cut capers as I had seen the dancers do in the 
theatre at the Fair. While so doing I looked in the glass, 



44 POETRY AND TRUTH [part i. book ii 

and by chance caught sight of the reflection of a recess 
which was behind me. On a white background hung three 
green cords, each of them twisted up in a way which I 
could not make out from a distance. I therefore turned 
round rather hastily, and asked the old man about the 
recess as well as the cords. He very courteously took a 
cord down, and showed it to me. It was made of green 
silk, and of moderate thickness; the ends were passed 
through a piece of green leather slit twice, and made it look 
like an instrument for no very desirable purpose. The 
thing looked to me suspicious, and I asked the old man the 
meaning of it. He answered me quite calmly and kindly, 
that it was for those who abused the confidence shown 
them here. He hung the cord in its place again, and 
immediately desired me to follow him ; for this time he did 
not hold me, and so I walked freely beside him. 

My chief curiosity now was to find out where the gate 
through the railing and the bridge over the canal were ; for 
as yet I had not been able to discover them. 1 therefore 
scrutinized the golden fence very narrowly as we hastened 
towards it. But in a moment my sight failed ; for all at 
once lances, spears, halberds, and partisans, began to 
rattle and quiver, and this strange movement ended in all 
the points on either side sinking towards each other, just 
as if two armies of olden times, armed with pikes, were 
about to charge. The confusion to the eyes, the clatter to 
the ears, was hardly to be borne ; but most astonishing 
was the sight when they had all been let down into their 
places and covered the course of the canal, forming the 
most glorious bridge that one can imagine. For now 
the gayest garden met my sight. It was laid out in inter- 
lacing beds, which, looked at together, formed a labyrinth 
of richest tracery ; all with green borders of a low downy 
plant which I had never seen before ; all filled with flowers, 
each division of a different colour, also growing low and 
close to the ground, which made it easy to follow the outlines 
of the design. This enchanting sight, which lay before me 
in the sunshine, quite riveted my eyes. But I hardly knew 
where to set my foot ; for the meandering paths were most 
daintily laid down with blue sand, which seemed like a 
darker sky upon earth, or a sky seen in water : and so I 



1756-58] THE NEW PARIS 45 

walked for a while beside my conductor, with my eyes 
fixed upon the ground, until at last I perceived in the 
middle of this maze of beds and flowers a great circle 
of cypresses or poplar-like trees, through which one could 
not see, because the lowest branches seemed to spring out 
of the ground. My guide, without exactiy hurrying me by 
the shortest way, led me, nevertheless, directly towards that 
centre : and what was my astonishment, when on entering 
the circle of high trees, I saw before me the peristyle of a 
magnificent garden-house, which seemed to have similar 
prospects and entrances on the other sides 1 The heavenly 
music which streamed from the building transported me 
still more than the perfection of its architecture. I fancied 
that I heard now a lute, now a harp, now a cithern, and 
then a tinkling sound which did not belong to any of these 
instruments. The door which we approached opened at a 
light touch by the old man. But how amazed was I to see 
that the portress, who came out, was exactly like the 
dainty maiden who had danced upon my fingers in my 
dream ! She greeted me, too, as if we were already 
acquainted, and invited me to walk in. The old man 
remained behind, and I went with her, through a short 
vaulted and beautifully decorated passage, to the central 
hall, the splendid dome-like ceiling of which attracted my 
gaze as I entered, and filled me with astonishment. Yet 
my eyes could not linger on it long, for they were attracted 
by a more charming spectacle beneath. On a carpet, 
directly under the middle of the cupola, sat three women, 
in a triangle, clad in three different colours ; the one in red, 
the other in yellow, the third in green. The seats were 
gilt, and the carpet was a perfect bed of flowers. In their 
hands were the three instruments which I had heard out- 
side ; for on my arrival, they had stopped their playing. 
" Welcome ! " said the middle one, who sat with her face 
towards the door, in the red dress, and with the harp. 
"Sit down by Alerte, and listen, if you are a lover of 
music." 

I now noticed for the first time that there was a rather 
long bench placed obliquely before them, on which lay a 
mandoline. The pretty girl took it up, sat down, and 
drew me to her side. Now, too, I looked at the second 



46 POETRY AND TRUTH [part t. book ii 

lady on my right. She wore the yellow dress, and had the 
cithern in her hand ; and while the harp-player was dignified 
in form, grand in feature, and majestic in deportment, an 
easy grace and cheerfulness distinguished the cithern-player. 
She was a slender blonde — while her companion had 
beautiful dark-brown hair. The variety and harmony of 
their music could not prevent me from observing the third 
beauty, in the green dress, whose lute-playing seemed to me 
at once touching and striking. She was the one who 
seemed to notice me the most, and to address her music to 
me; only I could not make up my mind about her; for 
she appeared to me now tender, now strange, now frank, 
now self-willed, according as she changed her expression 
and mode of playing. Sometimes she seemed to wish to 
move me, sometimes to teaze me ; but do what she would, 
she got little out of me ; for my little neighbour, with whom 
I was sitting side by side, had entirely won my heart; 
and as I clearly perceived these three ladies to be the 
Sylphids of my dream, and recognized the colours of the 
apples, I realized that I had no cause to detain them. 
I would rather have captured the pretty little maiden, if I 
had not retained such lively recollections of the blow which 
she had given me in my dream. Hitherto she had remained 
quite quiet with her mandoline ; but when her mistresses 
had ceased, they commanded her to perform some merry 
little pieces. Scarcely had she jingled off some dance 
melodies, in a most inspiring manner, than she sprang up ; 
I did the same. She played and danced ; I was irresistibly 
impelled to accompany her steps, and we executed a kind 
of little ballet, with which the ladies seemed well pleased ; 
for as soon as we had done, they commanded the little girl 
to offer me some refreshment till supper-time came. I had 
indeed forgotten that there was anything in the world beyond 
this paradise. Alerte immediately led me back into the 
passage by which I had entered. On one side of it she 
had two well-arranged rooms. In the one in which she 
lived, she set before me oranges, figs, peaches, and grapes ; 
and I enjoyed with keen relish both the fruits of foreign 
lands and those of our own not yet in season. Sweetmeats 
there were in profusion ; she filled, too, a goblet of polished 
crystal with foaming wine ; but I had no desire to drink, as 



1756-58] THE NEW PARIS 47 

I had refreshed myself with the fruits. " Now we will play," 
said she, and led me into the other room. This looked 
just like a Christmas fair ; but such costly and exquisite 
things were never seen in a Christmas booth. There were 
all kinds of dolls, dolls* clothes, and dolls* furniture; 
kitchens, parlours, and shops, and playthings innumerable. 
She led me round to all the glass cases, in which these 
ingenious articles were kept. But she soon closed the first 
cases, and said — "These will not interest you, I know. 
But here," she said, "we might find building materials, 
walls and tower's, houses, palaces, churches, for putting 
together a great city. But this does not amuse me. We 
will turn to something else, which will be equally entertain- 
ing for both of us." Then she brought out some boxes in 
which I saw an army of little soldiers piled one upon the 
other, and I admitted at once that I had never seen 
anything so beautiful. She did not leave me time to 
examine them in detail, but took one box under her arm, 
while I seized the other. — "We will go to the golden 
bridge," she said. "That is the best place for playing with 
soldiers ; the lances show the position in which the armies 
are to be placed opposite to one another." We had now 
reached the golden swaying floor ; and below me I could 
hear the waters gurgle, and the fishes splash, while I knelt 
down to arrange my columns. They were, as I now saw, 
all cavalry. She boasted that she had the Queen of the 
Amazons as leader of her feminine host. I, on the con- 
trary, found Achilles and an army of splendid Greek 
horsemen. The armies stood facing each other, and 
nothing more beautiful could have been seen. They were 
not flat leaden horsemen like ours, but man and horse 
were round and solid, and most finely wrought; it was 
difficult to understand how they kept their balance, for they 
stood of themselves, without a stand for their feet. 

Each of us had inspected our hosts with much self- 
complacency, when she declared war upon me. We had 
found ordnance in our boxes, viz., little cardboard boxes 
full of tiny polished agate balls. With these we were to 
fight against each other from a certain distance, while, how- 
ever, it was an express condition that we should not throw 
with more force than was necessary to knock down the 



48 POETRY AND TRUTH [part i. book it 

figures, as none of them were to be injured. Now the 
cannonade began on both sides, and at first it succeeded 
to the satisfaction of us both. But when my adversary 
observed that I aimed better than she, and was likely in 
the end to gain the victory, which depended on the number 
of pieces remaining upright, she came nearer, and her 
girlish way of throwing then had the desired result. She 
overthrew a number of my best troops, and the more I 
protested the more eagerly did she throw. At last this put 
me out, and I declared that I would do the same. In fact, 
I not only went nearer, but in my rage threw with much 
more violence, so that it was not long before several of her 
little centauresses flew in pieces. In her eagerness she did 
not immediately notice it, but I stood petrified when the 
broken figures joined together again of themselves ; Amazon 
and horse again became one, and at the same time quite 
alive, galloped from the golden bridge to the lime-trees, 
and careering backwards and forwards, vanished somehow 
in the direction of the wall. No sooner had my fair 
opponent perceived this than she broke out into loud 
weeping and lamentation, and exclaimed that I had done 
her an irreparable loss which was far greater than could be 
expressed. But by this time I was thoroughly angry, and, 
glad to annoy her, blindly flung my few remaining agate 
balls violently into the midst of her army. Unhappily I hit 
the queen, who had hitherto, during our regular game, been 
excepted. She flew in pieces, and her nearest officers were 
also shivered. But they swiftly joined together again, and 
started off like the others, galloping about very merrily 
under the lime-trees, and disappearing in the direction of 
the wall. 

My opponent scolded and abused me ; but being now 
in full swing, I stooped to pick up some agate balls which 
were rolling about upon the golden lances. It was my 
fierce desire to destroy her whole army. She, on the other 
hand, with great agility, sprang at me, and gave me a box 
on the ears which made my head ring. Having always 
heard that a hearty kiss was the proper response to a girVs 
box on the ears, I took her by the ears, and kissed her 
repeatedly. But she gave such a piercing cry as frightened 
even me ; I let her go, and it was fortunate that I did so ; 



1756-58] THE NEW PARIS 49 

for the next moment I did not know what was happening 
to me. The ground beneath me began to quake and rattle ; 
I became aware that the railings were again set in motion ; 
but I had no time to consider, nor could I get a footing so 
as to fly. I was in terror every instant of being transfixed, 
for the partisans and lances were rising, and were already 
slitting my clothes. Suffice it to say I know not what befell 
me, hearing and sight failed me, and I recovered from my 
swoon and terror at the foot of a lime-tree, against which 
the pikes had thrown me as they sprang back. On awaken- 
ing, my anger revived also, and grew yet more violent when 
I heard across the water the gibes and laughter of my 
opponent, who had alighted on the other side, probably 
somewhat more gently than I, Thereupon I sprang up, 
and when I saw the little army, with its leader Achilles, 
scattered around me, having been jerked across by the 
railings when I was, I seized the hero first and threw him 
against a tree. His restoration and flight now pleased me 
doubly, for a malicious pleasure was added to the prettiest 
sight in the world ; and I was on the point of sending all 
the other Greeks after him, when suddenly hissing waters 
spurted at me from all sides, from the stones and walls, out 
of the ground and the branches ; and, turn as I might, I 
was lashed by streams of water from all directions. 

My light attire was quickly wet through ; it was already 
rent, and I did not hesitate to tear it entirely off my body, 
I cast away my slippers, and one garment after another. 
Indeed, in the end I found it very pleasant to have a 
shower-bath playing over me on such a warm day. Then, 
when I was quite naked, I walked gravely along between 
these welcome waters, intending to enjoy myself there for 
some time. My anger cooled, and I wished for nothing 
more than a reconciliation with my little adversary. But, 
in a twinkling the water stopped, and I stood drenched 
upon the saturated ground. The presence of the old man, 
who appeared before me unexpectedly, was by no means 
welcome ; I could have wished, if not to hide, at least . 
to clothe myself. Shame, shivering, the effort to cover 
myself in some degree, made me cut a most sorry figure. 
The old man took the opportunity of heaping the severest 
reproaches upon me. " What hinders me," he exclaimed, 

VOL. I. E 



50 POETRY AND TRUTH [part i. book ii 

" from taking one of the green cords, and applying it, if not 
to your neck, to your back ? " This threat I took in very 
ill part. " Beware of uttering, nay, even of thinking such 
words," I cried, " for otherwise you and your mistresses are 
lost." " And who are you," he asked defiantly, " who dare 
speak thus ? " "A favourite of the gods," I said, " on whom 
it depends whether those ladies shall find worthy husbands 
and lead happy lives, or be left to pine and wither in their 
magic cell." The old man drew back several paces. " Who 
has revealed this to you ? " he inquired wonderingly and 
doubtfully. "Three apples," I said — "three jewels." 
" And what reward do you demand ? " he exclaimed. 
"First of all, the little creature," I replied, "who has 
brought me into this accursed plight." The old man cast 
himself down before me, regardless of the wet and miry soil ; 
then he arose without trace of moisture, took me kindly by 
the hand, led me into the hall, quickly clad me again, and 
I was soon arrayed once more in my Sunday clothes with 
my hair powdered as before. The porter did not speak 
another word ; but before he let me pass the threshold, he 
stopped me, and directed my attention to some objects on 
the wall across the way, while, at the same time, he pointed 
backwards to the little door. I imderstood him ; he wished 
to imprint the objects on my mind, that I might be the 
more certain to find the door, which unexpectedly closed 
behind me. I thereupon noticed carefully what was oppo- 
site to me. Above a high wall rose the boughs of some 
ancient nut-trees, and partly covered the cornice at the top. 
The branches reached down to a stone tablet, the orna- 
mental border of which I could recognize perfectly, though 
I could not read the inscription. It was placed above the 
projecting stone over the recess in which a fountain poured 
water from cup to cup into a great basin, where it formed, 
as it were, a little pond, and flowed away into the earth. 
Fountain, inscription, nut-trees, all stood directly one above 
another ; I could paint it as I saw it. 

Now, it is easy to imagine how I spent the evening and 
many following days, and how often I repeated this story to 
myself, which even I could hardly believe. As soon as ever 
it was possible, I went again to the Bad Wall, if only to 
refresh my recollection of these signs, and to look at the 



1756-58] THE NEW PARIS SI 

wonderful little door. But, to my great amazement, I found 
everything changed. Nut-trees, indeed, overtopped the 
wall, but they did not stand close together. A tablet also 
was inserted in the wall, but far to the right of the trees, 
without ornamentation, and with a legible inscription. 
There is a recess with a fountain some distance to the left, 
but with no resemblance whatever to the one which I had 
seen; so that I am almost obliged to believe that the 
second adventure was, like the first, a dream / for of the 
little door there is not the slightest trace. The only thing 
that consoles me is the observation that these three objects 
seem to be always changing their positions. For on 
repeated visits to the spot, I think I have noticed that the 
nut-trees have moved somewhat nearer together, and that 
the tablet and the fountain seem likewise to approach each 
other. Probably, when they are all together again, the door, 
too, will be visible once more ; and I shall do my best to 
take up the thread of the adventure. Whether I shall be 
able to tell you what further happens, or whether it will be 
expressly forbidden me, I cannot say. 



This tale, of the truth of which my playfellows strove 
ardently to convince themselves, received great applause. 
Each of them visited the place described alone, without 
taking me or any of the others into his confidence, and 
discovered the nut-trees, the tablet, and the fountain, 
but always at a distance from each other ; as they at last 
confessed to me, because at that age it is not easy to keep 
a secret. But it was only now that the controversy began. 
One asserted that the objects did not stir from the spot and 
always remained the same distance apart ; a second averred 
that they did move, but away from one another ; a third 
agreed with him as to the first point, viz. that they did 
move, though, on the other hand, it seemed to him that 
the nut-tree, tablet, and fountain rather drew nearer 
together ; while a fourth had something still more wonder- 
ful to tell, which was that the nut-trees were in the middle, 
but that the tablet and the fountain were on opposite sides 
to those I had stated. As to the traces of the little door, 
they also varied. And thus they furnished me with an early 



52 POETRY AND TRUTH [part I. book ii 

instance of the contradictory views people can have and 
maintain in regard to a quite simple question which it is 
perfectly easy to decide. As I obstinately refused to 
continue my tale, a repetition of the first part was fre- 
quently requested. I was on my guard, however, against 
altering the circumstances much, and by the uniformity 
of the narrative I transformed fiction into truth in the minds 
of my hearers. 

At the ^me time I was averse to falsehood and dis- 
simulation, and not at all frivolous. On the contrary, the 
natural seriousness, with which I had early begun to regard 
myself and the world, was apparent even in my exterior, 
and remarks were frequently addressed to me, often in 
kindness, and often in raillery, on the score of a certain 
dignity of bearing. For, although I certainly did not lack 
true and chosen friends, we were always in the minority 
beside those who took a mischievous delight in rudely 
molesting us and often roused us in no gentle fashion from 
those egotistic dreams of a world of romance in which we 
— I as inventor, and my companions as sympathizers — were 
only too fond of indulging. Here again we learned that 
instead of yielding to effeminacy and imaginary delights, 
there was reason rather for hardening ourselves, in order 
either to endure or to combat inevitable evils. 

In the exercise of stoicism, which I therefore cultivated 
as seriously as it was possible for a lad, I included the 
endurance of bodily pain. Our teachers often treated us 
very unkindly and roughly, with blows and cuffs, against 
which we hardened ourselves all the more as insubordination 
or refractoriness was forbidden under the severest penalties. 
A great many of the amusements of boys, moreover, depend 
on a rivalry in endurance of this kind; as, for instance, 
when they strike each other, with two fingers or the whole 
fist, till the members are numbed ; or when they suffer blows, 
incurred as a penalty in certain games, with greater or less 
fortitude ; when in wrestling or tussling they do not let 
themselves be put out by the pinches of a half-conquered 
opponent ; when they stifle the pain which others inflict 
in order to tease, and even treat with indifference the 
pinching and tickling which young people so frequently 
practise upon one another. What we thus gain is of 



i756-5»] JUVENILE STOICISM S3 

material advantage to ourselves, and it is not easy for 
others to rob us of it. 

But as I made in some sort a business of this indifference 
to pain, the impertinences of the others increased; and, 
since wanton cruelty knows no bounds, I was finally driven 
beyond the limits of my endurance. Let one case suffice. 
On one occasion the master had not come for the usual 
lesson. So long as we children were all together, we 
amused ourselves very peaceably; but when my allies, 
after waiting long enough, went away, and I was left alone 
with three of my enemies, the latter took it into their heads 
to torment me, put me to shame, and drive me away, 'i'hey 
left me in the room for an instant, and then came back 
with switches, which they had made by hastily cutting up 
a besom. I perceived their intention, and as I supposed 
the hour to be nearly up, I at once resolved to make no 
resistance till the clock struck. They began, therefore, re- 
morselessly to lash my legs and calves in the cruellest 
fashion. I did not stir, but soon felt that I had made a 
mistake in my calculation, and that such pain lengthens 
out the minutes very considerably. My wrath grew with 
my endurance, and at the first stroke of the hour, I grasped 
the one who least expected it by the hair at the back of 
his head, hurled him to the ground in an instant, and 
pressed my knee upon his back; the second, a younger 
and weaker boy, who attacked me from behind, I clutched 
by the head, drew it under my arm, and almost throttled 
him by pressing it to my side. The last — ^and he not the 
weakest — still remained ; and I had only my left hand with 
which to defend myself. However, I seized him by the 
clothes, and with a dexterous movement on my part, and 
an over precipitate one on his, I dragged him down and 
struck his face on the ground. They, of course, bit, 
scratched, and kicked, but my mind, as well as every limb, 
was set on vengeance. Profiting by the advantage which 
I had gained, I repeatedly knocked their heads together. 
At last they raised loud shouts for help, and we were soon 
surrounded by all the inmates of the house. The switches 
scattered around, and my legs, when I pulled off my stock- 
ings, soon bore witness for me. Punishment was deferred 
till another time, and I was allowed to leave the house ; but 



54 POETRY AND TRUTH [part i. book ii 

I declared that in future, if I were given the slightest 
provocation by any one of them, I would scratch out his 
eyes, tear off his ears, or even throttie him. 

This event, though soon forgotten, and even laughed 
at, as is the way with childish concerns^ nevertheless led to 
our having fewer of these lessons in common, and eventu- 
ally to their discontinuance. Thus, I was again, as I had 
been before, kept chiefly at home, where I found in my 
sister Cornelia, who was only one year younger than myself, 
a more and more congenial companion. 

But I will not pass on to a new topic without narrating 
one or two other stories, showing how much unpleasantness 
I had to suffer at the hands of my playfellows. For the 
only lesson that such narratives of conduct can teach is 
the knowledge of how others have fared, and of what we, 
therefore, may look for from life, as well as the reflection 
that whatever befalls us is our lot as human beings, and not 
as specially fortunate or unfortunate individuals. Though 
such knowledge may aid us but little in evading life's ills, 
it is, nevertheless, very valuable in helping us to adapt 
ourselves to circumstances, to be patient under them — nay 
more, to triumph over them. 

Here, too, it will not be irrelevant to introduce another 
general observation on a very marked discrepancy which 
is noticeable as the children of the cultivated classes grow 
up. On the one hand, the children are admonished and 
trained by parents and teachers to behave with self-control, 
good sense, and even rationally, never to injure anybody 
wantonly or mischievously, and to suppress all evil passions ; 
on the other hand, while the young things are trying hard 
to put these precepts into practice, they are made to suffer 
at the hands of others the very things which, in them, are 
reprimanded and strictly forbidden. In this way the poor 
things are in a sad dilemma between the state of nature 
and the state of civilisation, and after restraining themselves 
for a while, according to their natural disposition either 
become spiteful or fly into a passion. 

Force is most easily put down by force; but a well- 
disposed child, by nature loving and warm-hearted, has 
little wherewith to oppose scorn and ill-will. Though I 
succeeded fairly well in keeping off* the active assaults of 



1756-58] RUDENESS OF JUVENILE COMPANIONS 55 

my companions, I was by no means their equal in taunts 
and gibes ; because in such cases the one on the defensive 
always has the worst of it. Attacks of this sort, conse- 
quently, when they went so far as to rouse my anger, were 
repelled with physical force, or excited strange reflections 
in me, which brought other consequences in their train. 
Among other advantages which my ill-wishers grudged me, 
was the pleasure I took in the social advantages that accrued 
to the family from my grandfather's position of Schultheiss ; 
for his importance, as first among his equals, was to some 
extent reflected upon those belonging to him. Once, after 
the holding of the Pipers' Court, when I appeared to pride 
myself on having seen my grandfather in the midst of the 
coimcil, one step higher than the rest, enthroned, as it were, 
under the portrait of the Emperor, one of the boys said to 
me scoflSngly, that if I were like the peacock that looked 
at his feet, I should remember my grandfather on the 
father's side, who had been innkeeper of the Weidenhof, 
and would never have aspired to thrones and coronets. I 
replied that I was iij no wise ashamed of the fact, as it was 
a splendid and inspiring feature of our native city that all 
its citizens might consider themselves equal, and every man 
might attain to prosperity and honour by following his call- 
ing in his own way. I was only sorry that the good man 
had been so long dead ; for I had often longed to know 
him in person, I had many times studied his likeness, nay, 
had visited his tomb, and when I read the inscription on 
the simple monument, I had at any rate been thankful for 
his past life, to which I owed my own. Another of my 
adversaries, the most malicious of them all, took the speaker 
aside, and whispered something in his ear, while they both 
looked at me scornfully. My gall was rising, and I chal- 
lenged them to speak out. " It is only this, if you will 
have it," said the first, "he thinks you might look about 
a long time before you could find your grandfather ! " I 
now threatened them more violently, if they did not explain 
themselves more clearly. Thereupon they brought out a 
silly tale, which they pretended to have overheard from 
their parents, that my father was the son of some eminent 
man, and the simple burgher had been willing to act the 
part of father. They had the impudence to produce all 



S6 POETRY AND TRUTH [part i. book ii 

sorts of arguments ; as, for example, that our property was 
derived exclusively from our grandmother, that the other 
collateral relations, who lived in Friedburg and elsewhere, 
were all equally without property, and other reasons of the 
sort, which could derive weight from malice alone. I 
listened to them more composedly than they expected, for 
they stood ready to fly upon the first intimation that 1 
meant to seize them by the hair. But I replied quite 
calmly, "that I did not mind if this were so. Life was 
such a boon, that it was a matter of indifference to whom 
we owed it, for ultimately it was derived from God, before 
whom we were all equal." As they could not gain their 
end, they let the matter drop for the time being ; we went 
on playing together as before, which among children is an 
approved mode of reconciliation. 

Nevertheless, these spiteful words had inoculated me 
with a sort of moral disease, which spread in secret. I 
did not at all dislike the idea of being the grandson of 
some person of distinction, even if not in the most legiti- 
mate way. 1 followed up the scent with keenness — my 
imagination was stimulated, and my astuteness challenged. 
I began to investigate the statements of my companions, and 
discovered or invented new grounds of probability. I had 
heard little of my grandfather, except that his likeness, 
together with my grandmother's, had hung in a parlour of 
the old house ; when the new house was built both portraits 
were kept in an upper chamber. My grandmother must 
have been a very handsome woman, and of the same age 
as her husband. I remembered, also, to have seen in her 
room the miniature of a handsome gentleman in uniform, 
decorated with star and order, which, after her death, and 
in the general confusion of building, had disappeared with 
many other small articles. This, and many other items, 
I pieced together in my childish head, and in these early 
years exercised that modern poetical talent which succeeds 
in gaining the sympathies of the whole cultivated world by 
a fanciful combination of significant facts of human life. 

Naturally, in a case like this, I did not venture to confide 
in any one, or to ask even the most remote questions about 
it, and therefore resorted to a stealthy diligence, in order 
to get, if possible, more information on the subject. I had 



1756-58] GOETHE'S REPUTED GRANDFATHER 5/ 

heard it explicitly maintained, that sons often bore a decided 
resemblance to their fathers or grandfathers. Several of 
ovvr acquaintances, especially Councillor Schneider, a family 
friend, had business relations with all the princes and noble- 
men of the neighbourhood, many of whom, both heads of 
houses and younger members, had estates on the Rhine 
and Maine and in the intermediate country, and now and 
again, as a mark of special favour, would bestow their 
portraits on their loyal agents. I now regarded these like- 
nesses, which from my infancy I had often seen on the 
walls, with redoubled attention, trying to detect some 
resemblance to my father or even to myself, but this hap- 
pened too often to lead to any degree of certainty. For 
now it was the eyes of this man, now the nose of that, which 
seemed to indicate some relationship. These criteria led 
me hither and thither along false tracks ; and though subse- 
quently I came to regard the reproach as a purely idle tale, 
the impression remained, and I could not forbear now and 
then calling up before me all the gentlemen, whose portraits 
had remained distinct in my imagination, and silently scru- 
tinizing them. So true is it that whatever confirms a man 
in his self-conceit, or flatters his secret vanity, is so extremely 
acceptable to him, that he does not wait to ask whether in 
any other respect it redoimds to his honour or his disgrace. 
But instead of introducing serious or even censorious 
reflections here, I will rather turn my eyes away from those 
beautiful times; for who is able to speak fittingly of the 
wealth of childhood ? We cannot behold the little creatures 
which move about before us otherwise than with delight, 
nay, with admiration; for their promise is usually greater 
than its realization, and it seems as if nature, among other 
pranks that she plays us, had here especially designed to 
make fools of us. The first organs she bestows upon the 
child on its entry into the world are adapted to the first 
primary conditions of the little creature, whiich applies them 
in the most skilful fashion to its immediate ends, naturally 
and unassumingly. The child, considered in and for itself, 
among its equals, and in an environment suited to its 
powers, seems as intelligent and rational as you could wish, 
and at the same time so tractable, cheerful, and clever, that 
one would hardly desire further education for it. If children 



58 POETRY AND TRUTH [part i. book ii 

continued to grow in accordance with early indications, we 
should have nothing but geniuses ; but growth is not merely 
development; the various organic systems which go to 
make up a man, originate in one another, succeed one 
another, change into one another, supplant one another, and 
even destroy one another ; so that after a time scarcely a 
trace is to be found of early capacities and indications of 
power. Even where natural gifts have on the whole a 
particular bent, it is difficult for the wisest and most experi- 
enced judge to foretell their future development with cer- 
tainty, although afterwards it is easy to point to indications 
of subsequent greatness. 

It is, therefore, not at all my intention in these first 
books to relate the stories of my childhood to their finish ; 
but I mean rather at a later point to take up and carry on 
many a thread which ran through the early years unnoticed. 
Here, however, I must point out the growing influence 
which the incidents of the war came to exercise upon our 
sentiments and modes of life. 
^ The relation of the peaceful citizen to the great events 
of the world is a curious one. Even from a distance they 
excite and perturb him, and without coming into actual 
contact with them, he can scarcely avoid forming an opinion 
and feeling sympathy. He soon takes the side to which 
character or external circumstances incline him. But when 
such large issues, such momentous changes, draw nearer 
home, then, in addition to many outward inconveniences, the 
same inward discomfort remains, doubling and intensifying 
the evil and destroying the good which was still possible. 
Then friends and foes cause him real grief, the former often 
more than the latter, and he is at a loss how to preserve his 
affections or safeguard his interests. 

The year 1757, though spent in perfect civic tranquillity, 
nevertheless brought us great uneasiness of mind. Perhaps 
no other year was more fruitful in events. Victories, exploits, 
disasters, recoveries, followed in succession, one swallow- 
ing up the other and cancelling its effects; but ever the 
figure of Frederick, his name and glory, stood out clearly 
before all else. The enthusiasm of his admirers grew ever 
stronger and more animated, the hatred of his enemies 
more bitter, and the diversity of opinion, by which even 



1756-58] FEELINGS OF THE FRANKFORTERS IN 1757 59 

families were split up, contributed to the further disunion of 
the burghers who were already divided on various grounds. 
For in a city like Frankfort, where three religions divide the 
inhabitants into three unequal masses, where only a few 
men, even of the ruling faith, can attain to political power, 
there must be many wealthy and educated persons who are 
thrown back upon themselves, and, giving themselves up 
to their studies and hobbies, lead an independent and 
secluded life. It will be necessary to turn our attention to 
men of this stamp, both at this point and subsequently, if 
we wish to realize the characteristics of a Frankfort citizen 
of that time. 

My father, on his return from his travels, wished to fit 
himself for municipal service, and had conceived the charac- 
teristic design of filling one of the subordinate offices 
and discharging its duties without emolument, if it were 
conferred upon him without balloting. Conscious of his 
good intentions, and his way of thinking and his opinion 
of himself being such as they were, he considered such a 
distinction — which, it is true, was without law or precedent 
— to be no more than his due. Consequently, when his 
suit was rejected, he was angry and mortified, vowed that 
he would never accept any post, and in order to render it 
impossible for him to do so, procured the title of Imperial 
Councillor, an honorary title borne by the Schultheiss and 
the senior Schoffen, He had thus put himself on an equality 
with the highest, which made it impossible for him to begin 
again at the bottom. The same motive led him also to woo 
the eldest daughter of the Schultheiss^ so that he was 
excluded from the Council on this ground also. He was 
now of that number of recluses who never form a society 
among themselves. They are as much isolated in relation 
to each, other as to the whole, and the more so as in this 
seclusion the idiosyncrasies of character become more and 
more pronounced. My father, on his travels and in the 
larger world which he had seen, may have had some idea of 
a more elegant and Uberal mode of life than was, perhaps, 
common among his fellow-citizens. In this respect, how- 
ever, he was not without predecessors and associates. 

The name of Uffenbach is well known. At that time 
there was a SchofF von Uffenbach, who was generally 



6o POETRY AND TRUTH [part i. book ii 

respected. He had been in Italy, had interested himself 
particularly in music, had a pleasant tenor voice, and on the 
strength of a fine collection of music which he had brought 
back with him, gave concerts and oratorios at his house. 
But because he sang at these concerts himself and gave 
countenance to musicians, they were considered not alto- 
gether befitting his dignity, and his invited guests, as well 
as the rest of his neighbours, frequently indulged in witticisms 
on the subject 

I remember, too, a Baron von Hackel, a rich nobleman, 
who was married, but childless, and occupied a charming 
house in the Antonius Street, fitted up with all the con- 
veniences of a comfortable manner of living. Also he 
possessed good paintings, engravings, antiques, and other 
accumulations which find their way into the hands of 
collectors and connoisseurs. From time to time he would 
invite distinguished guests to dinner, and practised philan- 
thropy in a careful way of his own, by clothing the poor in 
his own house, retaining their old rags, and giving them a 
weekly alms, on condition that they should present them- 
selves each time cleanly and neatly clad in the clothes 
bestowed on them. I remember him but indistinctly, as a 
kindly, handsome man ; but all the more clearly do I recall his 
auction, which I attended from beginning to end, and where, 
partly at the bidding of my father, partly of- my own accord, I 
purchased many things that are still among my collections. 

At an earlier date — so early that I can hardly have seen 
him — JoHANN Michael von Loen attracted a good deal 
of attention in the literary world as well as at Frankfort. 
Though not a native of Frankfort, he had settled there, and 
married a sister of my grandmother Textor, whose maiden- 
name was Lindheim. Familiar with political and court life, 
and rejoicing in a renewed title of nobility, he had acquired 
reputation by daring to take part in the various contemporary 
movements in Church and State. He wrote the Count of 
Rivera^ a didactic romance, the subject of which appears 
from the second title, " or, the Honest Man at Court." This 
work was well received, because it insisted on morality even 
at court, which, for the most part, is the haunt of worldly 
wisdom only ; and thus his efforts brought him commendation 
and respect. A second work, on the other hand, exposed 



1 756-58] DR' ORTH 6 1 

him to all the greater danger. He wrote The Only True 
Religion^ a book designed to advance tolerance, especially 
between Lutherans and Calvinists, This led to a con- 
troversy with the theologians : in particular, Dr. Benner, of 
Giessen, wrote against him. Von Loen replied ; the con- 
troversy became violent and personal, and the unpleasant- 
ness wlxich arose from it caused him to accept the office of 
President at Lingen, offered him by Frederick II., who saw 
in him an enlightened, unprejudiced man, not averse to the 
new views which had made much more rapid progress in 
France. His former countrymen, whom he had quitted in 
some displeasure, averred that he was not contented there, 
nay, could not be so, as a place like Lingen was not to be 
compared with Frankfort. My father also doubted whether 
the President were happy, and asserted that his good uncle 
would have done better to steer clear of the King, as it 
was, generally speaking, hazardous to come into contact with 
him, extraordinary sovereign as he undoubtedly was; for 
had it not been seen how disgracefully the famous Voltaire 
had been arrested in Frankfort, at the requisition of the 
Prussian Resident Freitag, though he had formerly stood 
so high in favour and had been regarded as the king's 
master in French poetry? Such occasions did not fail to 
produce various reflections and examples, full of warning 
against courts and the service of the great about which a 
native Frankforter was hardly in a position to judge. 

An excellent man. Dr. Orth, I will only mention by 
name, because it is not my business here to erect a monu- 
ment to the deserving citizens of Frankfort, but rather to 
refer to them only in so far as they themselves or their reputa- 
tion exercised an influence upon my earliest years. Dr. 
Orth was wealthy, and was also one of those men who never 
took any part in the government, although perfectly qualified 
to do so by his knowledge and judgment. German archae- 
ology, especially that of Frankfort, owes much to him ; he 
published Notes on the so-called Reformation of Frank- 
forty a work in which the statutes of the city are collected. 
In my youth I carefully studied the historical portions of 
this book. 

Von Ochsenstein, the eldest of the three brothers 
whom I mentioned before as our neighbours, though not 



62 POETRY AND TRUTH [part i. book ii 

remarkable during his lifetime, in consequence of his recluse 
habits, became the more remarkable after his death, by 
leaving directions that he should be carried to the grave 
by working-men, early in the morning, in perfect silence, 
without attendants or followers. This was done, and the 
proceedings attracted a great deal of attention in the town, 
where people were accustomed to the most magnificent 
funerals. All who discharged the customary offices on such 
occasions protested against the innovation. But the brave 
patrician found imitators in all classes, and though such cere- 
monies were derisively called ox-burials,* they gained ground, 
to the advantage of many of the less well-to-do families, and 
funeral displays became less and less fashionable. I cite 
this instance as one of the first symptoms of that attitude 
of humility and equality which showed itself in the second 
half of the last century in such various ways, beginning with 
the highest, and finding expression in such unexpected 
forms. 

There were, too, many lovers of archaeology. Cabinets of 
pictures, collections of engravings, were already in existence, 
but a special interest was taken in the search for and preser- 
vation of national antiquities. The older decrees and man- 
dates of the imperial city, hitherto uncollected, were carefully 
sought out, whether in print or manuscript, arranged in 
chronological order, and reverently preserved as a treasury 
of national laws and customs. The portraits of Frankforters, 
too, which existed in great number, were collected, and 
placed in special cabinets. 

It was apparently men such as these whom my father 
took as his models. He lacked none of the qualities of an 
upright and respectable citizen. So, after he had built his 
house, he put his possessions of all sorts in order. An 
excellent collection of maps by the Schencks and other 
eminent geographers of the time, the decrees and mandates 
alluded to above, the portraits, a chest of ancient weapons, 
a case of remarkable Venetian glasses, cups and goblets, 
natural curiosities, ivory work, bronzes, and a hundred 
other things, were classified and arranged, and whenever 
an auction occurred, I always begged to be allowed to 
purchase new additions to the collection. / 

♦ A pun upon the name of Ochsenstein.— 7Va«J. 



1756-58] THE SENKENBERGS 63 

I have still to mention one notable family, concerning 
which I had heard many strange things from my earliest 
years, and afterwards had personal experience of the eccen- 
tricities of some of its members. I mean the Senkenbergs. 
The father, of whom I have little to say, was an opulent 
man. He had three sons, who even in their youth had all 
made themselves conspicuous by their oddity. Such doings 
are not regarded favourably by the society of a town where 
no one is allowed to make himself conspicuous, either in good 
or evil. . Nicknames and strange stories, remembered long 
afterwards, are generally the outcome of such singularity. 
The father lived at the corner of the Hasmgasse (Hare Street), 
which took its name from the sign on the house, representing 
a hare, or it may have been three hares. Consequently the 
three brothers were invariably called The Three Hares, and 
the nickname stuck to them for a long while. Very often the 
presence of unusual gifts is announced in youth by eccen- 
tricity and unmannerliness, and so it was in this case. The 
eldest of the brothers was the Rdchshofrat (Imperial 
Councillor) von Senkenberg, afterwards so justly celebrated. 
The second was admitted to the Municipal Council, and 
displayed eminent abilities, which, however, he subsequently 
abused by pettifoggery and even nefarious acts, to the injury 
of his colleagues at any rate, if not of his native town. The 
third brother, a physician and a man of great integrity, who, 
however, practised little, and only in aristocratic families, 
preserved to extreme old age a somewhat odd appearance. 
He was always very neatly dressed, and whenever he was 
seen in the street, always wore shoes and stockings, a well- 
powdered curled wig, and carried his hat under his arm. 
He moved along rapidly, but with a curious indecision, so 
that he was now on this and then on that side of the street, 
and made a zigzag as he went. The wags said that this 
irregular step was meant to avoid departed spirits who 
might follow him if he were to walk in a straight line, and 
that he was following the example of people who are afraid 
of a crocodile. But all these jests and many amusing 
reports finally changed into respect for him, when he left 
his handsome dwelling-house in Eschenheimer Street, with 
courtyard, garden, and all appurtenances, to found a 
medical institution. Thus, in addition to a hospital, 



64 POETRY AND TRUTH [part i. book ii 

designed exclusively for the citizens of Frankfort, there 
were provided a botanic garden, an anatomical theatre, a 
chemical laboratory, a considerable library, and a house 
for the director, of which no university need have been 
ashamed. 

Another eminent man, whose importance in the neigh- 
bourhood and whose writings, rather than his personality, had 
a very important influence upon me, was Karl Friedrich 
VON MosER, who was constantly referred to in our district 
on account of his activity in business. He also was a 
man of strong moral principle, and his consciousness of 
the frailty of human nature disposed him to sympathy 
with the Pietists. Thus, the efforts of von Loen to 
introduce greater conscientiousness into court-life were 
paralleled by Moser with regard to business-life. The 
great number of small German courts gave rise to a multi- 
tude of princes and officials, the former of whom required 
unconditional obedience, while the latter, for the most part, 
desired to act and serve only in accordance with their own 
convictions. Thus arose never-ending conflicts, rapid 
changes and upheavals, inasmuch as the effects of abso- 
lutism are much more patent and visibly injurious in a 
small state than in a large one. Many of the princely 
houses were in debt, and Imperial Commissions of Debts 
had been appointed: others were hastening more or less 
rapidly towards the same condition ; and this state of affairs 
led the officials of these houses either to reap an unscrupulous 
profit, or, by acting conscientiously, to cover themselves with 
dislike and odium. Moser wished to act as a statesman and 
man of business, and here his hereditary talent, cultivated to 
professional perfection, was productive of happy results ; but 
at the same time he wished to act as a man and a citizen, and 
to guard his moral dignity as jealously as possible. His Fnnce 
and Servant^ his Daniel in the lAon^ Den^ his Relics^ truthfully 
reproduce his own position, in which he felt himself not 
tortured indeed, yet always cramped. They all indicate 
impatience with a lot to which it is impossible to be recon- 
ciled, yet from which there is no escape. In consequence 
of this mode of thinking and feeling, he was, naturally, often 
compelled to seek other employment, and this his great 
versatility enabled him to find without difficulty. I remember 



1756-58] KLOPSTOCK'S "MESSIAH" 6$ 

him as a pleasing, sprightly, and at the same time gentle 
man. 

'^ The name of Klopstock already exercised a great 
influence upon us, even at a distance. At the outset, people 
wondered how so excellent a man came by so odd a name ; 
but they soon got accustomed to it, and thought no more of 
the meaning of the syllables. I had hitherto found only the 
earlier poets in my father's library, especially those who 
had appeared in his day from time to time and acquired 
fame. All these had written in rhyme, and my father con- 
sidered rhyme indispensable to poetical works. Canitz, 
Hagedorn, Drollinger, Gellert, Creuz, Haller, stood in a 
row, in handsome calf bindings. Then came Neukirch's 
Tclemachus^ Kopp's Jerusalem Delivered^ and other trans- 
lations. From childhood I had diligently read through all 
these volumes, and committed portions to memory, and 
hence I was often called upon to entertain visitors. A 
period of annoyance, on the other hand, opened for my 
father on the appearance of Klopstock*s Messiah^ when 
verses, which did not seem to him verses at all, became the 
object of general admiration.* He had taken good care not 
to buy this book ; but our family friend. Councillor Schneider, 
smuggled it in and slipped it into the hands of my mother 
and her children. 

This active business-man, who read but little, had been 
greatly impressed by the Messiah^ as soon as it appeared. 
The pious sentiments, so natural in their expression and yet 
so beautiful in their elevation, the graceful language, even 
if considered merely as harmonious prose, had so captivated 
the dry man of business that he regarded the first ten 
cantos — for it is with these that we are now concerned — as 
the sublimest book of devotion, and he was wont once a year 
in Passion week, when he withdrew from business, to read it 
through in private, and draw refreshment from it for the 
whole year. At first he had thoughts of communicating his 
impressions to his old friend ; but he was much shocked to 
find an incurable dislike to a book of such glorious contents 
on account of its external form, which to him seemed a matter 
of indifference. As may be supposed, their conversation 

♦ The Messiah is written in hexameter verse. — Trans. 
vol,. I. F 



66 POETRY AND TRUTH [part i. book ii 

often reverted to this topic; but both disputants differed 
more and more from each other, violent scenes ensued, and 
the compliant Councillor had at last to make up his mind 
to say nothing about his favourite work, in order not to 
lose a friend of his youth and at the same time a good 
Sunday meal. 

It is the most natural wish of everyone to make 
proselytes, and how well repaid did our friend secretly find 
himself, when he discovered in the rest of the family hearts 
so favourably disposed to his saint. The copy which he 
used only one week during the year, was placed at our 
disposal for the rest of the time. My mother kept it 
secretly, and we children took possession of it when we 
could, so that in our leisure hours, hidden away in some 
corner, we might learn the most striking passages by heart, 
and, in particular, might memorize the most tender as well 
as the most impassioned parts as quickly as possible. 

We vied with one another in reciting Portia's dream, 
and divided between us the wild dialogue of despair between 
Satan and Adrammelech who had been cast into the Red 
Sea. The first part, as being the most forcible, had 
been assigned to me, and the second, as being slightly 
more pathetic, was undertaken by my sister. These re- 
ciprocated curses, horrible it is true, but at the same time 
well-sounding, fell lightly from our lips, and we seized 
every opportunity to accost each other with these infernal 
phrases. 

It was a Saturday evening, in winter — my father always 
had himself shaved over night, so that on Sunday morning he 
might dress himself for church at his ease — we were sitting 
oh a footstool behind the stove, and muttering our customary 
imprecations in fairly low voices, while the barber was 
applying his lather. But now came the moment for Adram- 
melech to seize Satan with iron hands; my sister gripped 
me violently, and recited, softly enough, but with rising 
passion : — 

** Lend me thine aid, I implore, I will worship thee, if thou demand it, 
Thee, thou monster abandoned, yea thee, thou swart evildoer ; 
Aid me, I suffer the tortures of death, which is vengeful, eternal, 
Once, in the times gone by, with a hot fierce hate I could hate thee, 
Now I can hate thee no more ! E'en this is the sharpest of tortures." 



1756-58] KLOPSTOCK'S " MESSIAH '' . 6y 

So far all had gone well ; but loudly, with a dreadful voice, 
she cried the following words : — 

" O, how am I crushed ! " 

The good surgeon was startled, and emptied the basin of 
soap-suds into my father's bosom. There was a great uproar, 
and a strict investigation was held, especially in view of the 
disaster which might have occurred if the shaving had been 
actually in process. In order to prove that we had meant 
no harm, we confessed our Satanic characters, and the 
mischief done by the hexameters was so apparent, that, 
naturally, they were again condemned and banished. 

Thus children and common people are accustomed to 
transform the great and sublime into a sport, and even a 
jest ; and how else indeed could they endure it ? 



THIRD BOOK 

At that time the general interchange of personal good wishes 
made the city very lively on New Year's day. People who 
as a rule found it difficult to leave home, donned their best 
clothes, that for the nonce they might show friendliness and 
civility to their friends and patrons. The festivities at my 
grandfather's house on this day were a particularly welcome 
treat to us children. Early dawn found the grandchildren 
already assembled there to hear the drums, oboes, clarionets, 
trumpets, and comets played upon by the military, the town 
musicians, and whoever else contributed to the music. The 
New Year's gifts, sealed and addressed, were distributed by 
us children among the humbler congratulators, and, as the 
day advanced, the number of those of higher rank increased. 
The relations and intimate friends appeared first, then the 
subordinate officials; even the gentlemen of the Council 
did not fail to pay their respects to the Schultheiss^ and a 
select number were entertained in the evening in rooms 
which were hardly ever opened throughout the year. The 
cakes, biscuits, marchpane, and sweet wine had the greatest 
charm for the children, and, besides, the Schultheiss and the 
two Burgomasters were annually presented by certain institu- 
tions with some silver plate, which was then bestow^ed upon 
the grandchildren and godchildren in regular order. In 
fine, this miniature festival was not without any of those 
attributes which usually glorify the greatest. 

The New Year's day of 1759 approached, as welcome 
and delightful to us children as any preceding one, but full 
of anxiety and foreboding to older persons. It is true we 
had become accustomed to the marching through of French 
troops : it was a common occurrence, but had been most 
ifrequent in the last days of the past year. According 
to the ancient usage of an imperial town, the warder of 

68 



1759-62] FRENCH OCCUPATION OF FRANKFORT 69 

the chief tower sounded his trumpet whenever troops 
approached, and on this New Year's day he never left off at 
all, which was a sign that large bodies of men were in motion 
on several sides. They did, as a matter of fact, march 
through the city in great masses on this day, and the people 
ran to see them pass by. At other times we had been used 
to see them march through in small detachments, but now 
they gradually increased in size without anyone's being able 
or willing to hinder it. In short, on the 2nd of January, 
after a column had come through Sachsenhausen over the 
bridge, through the Fahrgasse, as far as -the Police Guard 
House — it halted, overpowered the small detachment which 
escorted it, took possession of the Guard House just men- 
tioned, marched down the Zeil, and, after a slight resistance, 
forced the main guard also to yield. In a moment the 
peaceful streets were transformed into a scene of war. The 
troops remained and bivouacked there, until quarters were 
assigned them by regular billeting. 

This unexpected burden, imheard of for years past, 
weighed heavily upon the ease-loving citizens, and to none 
could it have been more irksome than to my father, who 
was obliged to take foreign soldiers into his barely finished 
house, to give up to them his well-furnished reception 
rooms, which were usually kept shut up, and to hand over 
to the tender mercies of strangers all that he had been 
accustomed to arrange and manage with such care. Siding 
as he did with the Prussians, he was now to find himself 
besieged in his own chambers by the French; — it was, 
according to his way of thinking, the greatest misfortune 
that could happen to him. If it had only been possible for 
him to take the matter more easily, he might have saved 
himself and us many sad hours, since he spoke French 
well and could deport himself with dignity and grace in 
daily life. For it was the King's Lieutenant who was 
quartered on us, and although he was a military official, 
it was only civil matters, such as disputes between soldiers 
and citizens and questions of debt and quarrels that he 
had to settle. This was the Count Thorane, a native of 
Grasse in Provence, not far from Antibes ; a tall, thin, grave 
figure, with a face much disfigured by the smallpox, black 
fiery eyes, and a dignified, self-contained demeanour. His 



70 POETRY AND TRUTH [part i. book hi 

very first entrance was propitious for the inmates of the 
house. The various apartments were discussed, some of 
which were to be given up and others retained by the 
family ; and when the Count heard a picture- room men- 
tioned, although it was already dark, he immediately re- 
quested permission to give at least a hasty look at the 
pictures by candlelight. He took extreme pleasure in 
these things, behaved in the most courteous manner to my 
father who accompanied him, and when he heard that the 
majority of the artists were still living and resident in Frank- 
fort and its neighbourhood, he assured us that he desired 
nothing more than to make their acquaintance as soon as 
possible, and to employ them. 

But even this sympathy in respect to art could not 
change my father's feelings nor soften his inflexibility. He 
acquiesced in what he could not prevent, but remained 
aloof and inactive, and the unwonted state of things around 
him was intolerable to him, even to the veriest trifle. 

Count Thorane, meanwhile, behaved in an exemplary 
manner. He would not even have his maps nailed on 
the walls, for fear of injuring the new hangings. His 
servants were capable, quiet, and orderly ; but, seeing that 
he was never left in peace all day long and part of the 
night, one complainant quickly following another, persons 
under arrest being brought in and led out, and all officers 
and adjutants being admitted to his presence; seeing, further- 
more, that the Count kept open table every day ; naturally 
the moderate-sized house, planned only for a family, and 
with but one open staircase running from top to bottom, 
was pervaded with a movement and a buzzing like that in 
a beehive, although everything was under ordered, thought- 
ful, and strict control. 

As mediator between the irritable master of the house — 
who became daily more of a hypochondriac and a burden 
to himself — and his well-meaning, but grave and precise 
military guest, there was, fortunately, an easy-going inter- 
preter, a handsome, corpulent, cheerful man, who was a 
citizen of Frankfort, spoke French well, could adapt himself 
to all circumstances, and only made a jest of many little 
annoyances. Through him my mother had sent a repre- 
sentation to the Count of the situation in which she was 



1759-62] COUNT THORANE , 7 1 

placed, owing to her husband's state of mind He de- 
scribed the situation with great skill — explaining that the 
new house was still in some disorder, that the owner 
was naturally reserved and occupied with the education 
of his family, with much more to the same effect; and 
the Count, who on his part took the greatest pride in abso- 
lute justice, integrity, and honourable conduct, resolved 
here also to behave in an exemplary manner to those upon 
whom he was quartered, and, in fact, never swerved from 
this resolution in spite of changing circumstances during 
the several years he stayed with us. 

My mother possessed some knowledge of Italian, a 
language not altogether unknown to any of the family ; she 
therefore resolved to learn French immediately. Accordingly 
the interpreter, for whose child she had stood godmother 
during these stormy times, and who, in consequence of this 
family connection, took a redoubled interest in our house, 
devoted every spare moment to his child's godmother — for 
he lived directly opposite — and in particular, he taught her 
those phrases which she would be obliged to use in her 
personal intercourse with the Count. This succeeded admir- 
ably. The Count was flattered by the pains taken by the 
mistress of the house at her years, and as he had a cheerful, 
witty vein in his character, and liked to exhibit a certain 
dry gallantry, a most friendly relation arose between them, 
and when godmother and father made common cause, they 
could obtain whatever they wanted from him. 

As I said before, if it had been possible to cheer up my 
father, this altered state of things would have troubled us 
but little. The Count practised the severest disinterested- 
ness ; he even declined gifts to which his position entitled 
him ; he rejected angrily the most trifling present which might 
have looked like a bribe, and even punished the giver. His 
servants were most strictly forbidden to put the proprietor 
of the house to the least expense. On the other hand, we 
children were bountifully supplied from the dessert. To 
give an idea of the simplicity of those times, I must take 
this opportunity of mentioning that my mother grieved us 
excessively one day by throwing away the ices which had 
been sent us from the table, because she would not believe it 
possible for the stomach to bear real ice, however sugary. 



72 POETRY AND TRUTH [part I. book hi 

Besides these dainties, which we gradually learned to 
enjoy and to digest quite well, it was very agreeable for us 
children to be in some measure released from fixed hours of 
study and strict discipline. My father^s ill-humour increased, 
he could not resign himself to the inevitable. How he 
tormented himself, my mother, the interpreter^the Councillors, 
and all his friends, only to rid him of the Count 1 In vain 
they represented to him that under existing circumstances 
the presence of such a man in the house was an actual 
benefit, and that the removal of the Count would be followed 
by a constant succession of officers or of privates. None of 
these arguments had any effect. To him the present seemed 
so intolerable, that his indignation prevented his conceiving 
anything worse that might follow. 

In this way his activity, which he had been used chiefly 
to expend upon us, was crippled. He no longer showed 
the same strictness in setting our tasks, and we tried to 
gratify our curiosity for miUtary and other public proceed- 
ings as much as possible, not only at home, but also in the 
streets, which was the more easily done, as the front door, 
open day and night, was guarded by sentries who paid no 
attention to the running in and out of restless children. 

The many affairs which were settled before the tribunal 
of the Royal Lieutenant had a charm of their own from his 
making it a point to give some witty, ingenious, or lively 
turn to his decisions. His verdict was strictly just, his 
manner of expressing it whimsical and piquant. He seemed 
to have taken the Duke of Ossufia as his model. Scarcely 
a day passed in which the interpreter did not tell some 
anecdote or other of this kind to amuse us and my mother. 
With his love of fun, he had made a little collection of such 
Solomonian decisions ; but I only retain a general impression, 
and cannot recall any particular instance. 

By degrees we became better acquainted with the 
unusual character of the Count. He was perfectly aware of 
his own peculiarities, and as there were times in which he 
was seized with a sort of dejection, hypochondria, or what- 
ever we may call the evil demon, he used to retire into his 
room at such hours, which often lengthened into days, would 
see no one but his valet, and even in urgent cases could not 
be prevailed upon to admit anyone to his presence. But 



1759-62] THE FRANKFORT PAINTERS . 73 

as soon as the evil spirit had left him, he appeared as before, 
kind, cheerful, and busy. It might be inferred from the talk 
of his valet, St. Jean, a merry, good-natured, thin little man, 
that in his earlier years, while dominated by this mood, he 
had been the cause of great suffering : and that therefore 
he had formed a serious resolve to avoid similar aberrations 
in his present important position, exposed to the eyes of all 
the world. 

During the very first days of the Count's residence with 
us, all the Frankfort artists, such as Hirt, Schiitz, Traut- 
mann, Nothnagel, and Juncker, were summoned by him. 
They showed their finished pictures, and the Count bought 
those that were for sale. My pretty, light gable-room in the 
roof was given up to him, and immediately turned into a 
cabinet and studio, for he intended to keep all the artists at 
work for a long time, especially Seekatz of Darmstadt, 
whose art greatly pleased him, particularly in the treatment 
of simple and natural subjects. He therefore sent to Grasse, 
where his elder brother apparently possessed a handsome 
house, for the dimensions of all the rooms and cabinets ; 
then discussed with the artists the divisions of the walls, 
and fixed accordingly upon the size of the large oil-paint- 
ings, which were not to be framed but to be fastened upon 
the walls like pieces of tapestry. Forthwith the work began 
in earnest. Seekatz undertook country scenes, and suc- 
ceeded admirably with his old men and children, who were 
copied directly from nature. His young men were not so 
successful, they were usually too thin, and his women erred 
in the opposite direction. For as his wife was a fat, good, 
but unpleasing little person, who presumably would not 
allow him to have any other model, the result was not 
attractive. He was also obliged to exceed the usual size of 
his figures. His trees were natural, but the foliage was too 
laboured. He was a pupil of Brinckmann, whose painting 
of easel pieces is not to be despised. 

Schiitz, the landscape painter, perhaps understood best 
what was required. He was thoroughly at home in the 
scenery of the Rhine, and could catch the sunny tone which 
lights it up at a favourable time of year. Besides, he had 
had experience of work on a large scale, and so was not 
obliged to sacrifice skilful handling of details and a due 



74 POETRY AND TRUTH [part i, BOOK in 

proportion of light and shade. The pictures which he 
produced were of a cheerful cast. 

Trautmann Rembrafidtized some resurrection miracles 
from the New Testament, and alongside of them set fire to 
villages and mills. He had a cabinet to himself, as I found 
from the designs of the rooms. Hirt painted good oak and 
beech forests. His cattle were praiseworthy. Juncker, 
accustomed to imitate the most elaborate Dutch artists, was 
least able to accommodate himself to this tapestry-work, but 
he condescended to ornament many compartments with 
flowers and fruits for a handsome price. 

As I had known all these men from my earliest youth 
and had often visited them in their studios, and as the Count 
besides liked to have me with him, I was present when sug- 
gestions were made, consultations held, and orders given, as 
well as when the pictures were sent home, and even ventured 
to speak my opinion freely when sketches and designs were 
handed in. Among amateurs, and still more at auctions, 
which I attended diligently, I had gained the reputation of 
being able to tell at once what any historical picture repre- 
sented, whether taken from Biblical or profane history, or 
from mythology ; and even if I did not always hit upon the 
meaning of allegorical pictures, there was seldom any one 
present who understood it better than I. I had often per- 
suaded artists to represent this or that subject, and I now 
was delighted to make use of my advantages. I still 
remember writing an elaborate essay, in which I described 
twelve pictures representing the history of Joseph ; some of 
them were executed. 

After these achievements, which were certainly laudable 
in a boy, I will mention a slight disgrace which happened 
to me among this circle of artists. I was well acquainted 
with all the pictures which from time to time had been 
brought into that room. My youthful curiosity left nothing 
unseen or unexamined. One day I found a little black 
box behind the stove; I proceeded to investigate what 
was concealed in it, and slipped back the lid without long 
deliberation. The picture contained was certainly of a 
kind not usually exposed to view, and although I tried to 
shut it again immediately, I was not quick enough. The 
Count entered and caught me — "Who allowed you to open 



1759-62] FRENCH THEATRE 75 

that box ? " he asked, with his Royal Lieutenant manner. 
1 had not much to say for myself, and he immediately pro- 
nounced my sentence in a very stern manner. "For a 
week," said he, " you are not to enter this room." I bowed 
and walked out. This order I obeyed most punctiliously, 
so that the good Seekatz, who was then at work in the 
room, was much annoyed, for he liked to have me about 
him ; and, out of spite, I carried my obedience so far as to 
put down Seekatz's cofifee, which I generally brought him, 
upon the threshold. He was thus obliged to leave his work 
and fetch it, which he took in such ill part that he almost 
stopped being friends with me. 

It now seems necessary to explain in greater detail how 
I managed to make my way, under these circumstances, 
more or less easily, with the French language, without having 
ever learned it. Here, again, I was helped by a natural 
aptitude which enabled me to catch easily the sound of a 
language, its movement, accent, tone, and all other outward 
peculiarities. I knew many words from the Latin ; Italian 
supplied still more; and by listening to servants and 
soldiers, sentries and visitors, I soon picked up so much 
that, if I could not join in conversation, I could at any rate 
understand single questions and answer them. All this, 
however, was trifling compared to the profit I derived from 
the theatre. My grandfather had given me a free ticket, 
which I used daily, with my father's disapproval, but with my 
mother's support. There I sat in the pit, before a foreign 
stage, and watched the movements and the expression both 
of gesture and speech the more narrowly as I understood 
little or nothing of what was being said, and therefore could 
only derive entertainment from the action and the intonation. 
I understood least of comedy, because it was spoken rapidly, 
and related to matters of everyday life, the phrases of which 
were unknown to me. Tragedy was not played so often, 
and the measured flow and rhythm of the alexandrines, 
the generality of the sentiments expressed, made it more 
intelligible to me in every way. It was not long before I 
took up Racine, which I found in my father's library, and 
declaimed the plays to myself, in theatrical style, as my 
organs of hearing and speech, with their intimate connection, 
had assimilated them, and this I did with considerable 



^6 POETRY AND TRUTH [part i. book hi 

animation, without being able to understand a single 
connected speech. I even learned entire passages by rote, 
and repeated them like a parrot, which was the easier to me 
from having previously been in the habit of committing to 
memory passages from the Bible which are generally unin- 
telligible to a child, and then reciting them in the tone of 
Protestant preachers. The versified French comedy was then 
much in vogue ; the pieces of Destouches, Marivaux, and La 
Chauss^e, were often produced, and I still remember dis- 
tinctly many characteristic figures. Of those of Molibre 1 
recollect less. What made the greatest impression upon me 
was the Hypermnestra of Lemierre, which was a new piece, and 
therefore produced carefully and often repeated. The Devin 
du Village^ Rose et Colas, Annette et Lubin, each left a very 
pleasing impression upon me. I can even now recall the 
youths and maidens decorated with ribands, and their move- 
ments. It was not long before the wish arose in me to explore 
the interior of the theatre, for which many opportunities 
were offered me. For as I did not always have patience to 
hear the whole of the plays, I often carried on all sorts of 
games with other children of my age in the corridors, and 
in warmer weather even outside the door. Often a handsome, 
lively boy joined us, who was connected with the stage, and 
whom I had seen in many small parts, though only inci- 
dentally. He could make himself understood better with me 
than with the rest, as I could turn my French to good account 
with him, and he attached himself to me the more readily 
because there was no boy of his age or his nationality at the 
theatre, or anywhere in the neighbourhood. We met at other 
times, as well as during the play, and even while the repre- 
sentations were going on he seldom left me in peace. He 
was a most delightful little braggart, chattered away charm- 
ingly and incessantly, and could tell so much of his adven- 
tures, quarrels, and other strange incidents, that he amused me 
extremely, and in four weeks I learned from him more of the 
language, and of the power of expressing myself in it, than 
would have been thought possible; so that no one knew 
how I had acquired the foreign tongue all at once, as if by 
inspiration. 

/ In the very earliest days of our acquaintance he took me 
'with him upon the stage, and in particular led me to the 



1759-62] "DERONES*' AND HIS SISTER ^^ 

foyasy where the actors and actresses remained during the 
intervals and dressed and undressed. The premises were 
neither suitable nor convenient, for they had squeezed the 
theatre into a concert-room, so that there were no separate 
chambers for the actors behind the stage. A tolerably 
large ante-room, which had formerly served for card-parties, 
was now generally used by both sexes in common, who 
appeared to feel as little ashamed before each other as 
before us children, even if the strictest propriety were 
not observed in putting on or changing articles of dress. 
I had never seen anything of the kind before, and yet 
from habit, after repeated visits, I soon found it quite 
natural. 

It was not long before a very peculiar interest of my own 
arose. Young Derones, for so I will call the boy whose 
acquaintance I kept up, was, apart from his boasting, a 
properly conducted and well-mannered boy. He introduced 
me to his sister, who was a few years older than we were, and 
a very pleasant, well-grown girl, of good figure, with brown 
complexion, black hair and eyes; her whole bearing had 
something quiet, even sad, about it. I tried to make myself 
agreeable to her in every way, but I could not attract her 
notice. Young girls think themselves far in advance of 
younger boys, and while their glances are directed towards 
young men, they assume the manner of an aunt towards 
the boy whose first affection is expended upon them. — 
With a younger brother of his I had no acquaintance. 

Often, when their mother had gone to rehearsals, or was 
out visiting, we met at her house to play and amuse our- 
selves. I never went there without presenting the fair one 
with a flower, fruit, or some other little gift, which she 
always received very kindly, and thanked me most politely, 
but I never saw her sad look brighten, and found no trace 
of her having given me a further thought. At last I 
fancied I had discovered her secret. The boy showed me 
a pastel drawing of a handsome man, behind his mother's 
bed, draped with elegant silk curtains, remarking at the 
same time, with a sly look, that this was not really papa, 
but just the same as papa ; and as he glorified this man, 
and told me many things in his circumstantial and ostenta- 
tious manner, I thought I might infer that the daughter 



78 POETRY AND TRUTH [part i. book hi 

belonged to the father, but the other two children to the 
intimate friend. I thus explained to myself her melancholy 
look, and only loved her all the more. 

My liking for this girl helped me to put up with the 
extravagances of her brother, which sometimes surpassed 
all bounds. I had often to endure prolix accounts of his 
exploits, how he had already fought various duels, but with- 
out wishing to injure his opponent — all merely for the 
sake of honour. He had always contrived to disarm his 
adversary, and had then forgiven him ; nay, he had such 
skill in knocking his opponent's arms out of his hands that 
he once caused himself great embarrassment by hitting the 
sword of his opponent into a high tree, so that it was not 
easy to recover it. 
^- What much facilitated my visits to the theatre was that 
"^"^my free ticket, coming from the hands of the Schultheiss^ 
gave me access to any of the seats, including those in the 
proscenium. This was very deep, after the French style, 
and had seats on either side. These seats were enclosed by 
a low railing, and were arranged in tiers behind one another 
in such a way that the front seats were but slightly raised 
above the stage. The whole was regarded as a place of 
special honour, and was generally used only by officers, 
although the nearness to the actors destroyed, I will not say 
all illusion, but, to a certain extent, all charm. I have even 
experienced and seen with my own eyes the usage, or abuse, 
of which Voltaire so much complains. It occurred when 
the house was very full, at such time as troops were passing 
through the town, and distinguished officers attempted to 
occupy this place of honour, which was generally already 
filled : then rows of benches and chairs would be placed in the 
proscenium on the stage itself, so that nothing remained for 
the heroes and heroines but to divulge their secret joys and 
sorrows in the very limited space between the uniforms and 
orders. I have even seen the Hypermnestra performed 
under such conditions. 

The curtain did not fall between the acts ; and another 
strange custom must be mentioned which struck me very 
much, as its inconsistency with art was to me, as a good 
German boy, quite intolerable. The theatre was considered 
the most sacred spot, and any disturbance occurring there 



1759-62] FRENCH THEATRE 79 

would have been instantly resented as the greatest outrage 
upon the majesty of the public. Therefore in all comedies, 
two grenadiers stood with their arms grounded, in full view, 
at the two sides of the curtain at the back of the stage, and 
were witnesses of all that occurred in the bosom of the 
family. Since, as I said before, the curtain did not fall 
between the acts, two others, to the sound of music, relieved 
guard, by coming from the wings directly in front of the 
first, who retired with the same, measured tread. Since such 
a practice was calculated to do away with all so-called 
illusion, it is the more surprising that it should obtain at a 
time when, in accordance wi^ Diderot's principles and 
examples, the most natural naturabiess was demanded 
upon the stage, and an absolute imitation of life was pro- 
posed as the proper aim of theatrical art. Tragedy, how- 
ever, was absolved from any such military police-regulations, 
and the heroes of antiquity had the right to guard them- 
selves; nevertheless, the same grenadiers stood close at 
hand in the wings. 

I will also mention that I saw Diderot's " Father of a 
Family," and " The Philosophers " of Palissot, and still per- 
fectly remember the figure of the philosopher in the latter 
piece, going upon all fours, and biting a raw head of 
lettuce. 

All this theatrical variety could not, however, keep us 
children always in the theatre. In fine weather we played 
in front of it and in the vicinity, and committed all manner 
of absurdities, which, especially on Sundays and festivals, 
by no means corresponded to our personal appearance ; for 
I and my comrades then appeared dressed as I described 
myself in the fairy tale, with my hat under my arm, and a 
little sword, the hilt of which was ornamented with a large 
silk knot One day when we had been playing about, and 
Derones had joined us, he took it into his head to assert 
that I had insulted him, and must give him satisfaction. It 
is true I had no conception what the provocation was; 
but I accepted his challenge, and prepared to draw my 
sword. He, however, assured me that in such cases it was 
customary to go to a secluded spot, so as to settle the 
matter more conveniently. We therefore withdrew behind 
some barns, and placed ourselves in the proper position. 



80 POETRY AND TRUTH [part i. book hi 

The duel took place in a somewhat theatrical style, the 
blades clashed, and the thrusts fell wide of their mark ; but 
in the heat of the combat the point of his sword became 
entangled in the ribbon knot at my hilt. This was pierced 
through, and he assured me that he had received the most 
complete satisfaction ; then he embraced me, likewise theatri- 
cally, and we went to the nearest coffee-house to refresh 
ourselves with a glass of almond- milk after our mental 
agitation, and to knit all the more closely the former bond 
of friendship. 

In this connection I will relate another adventure which 
also happened to me at the theatre, although at a later date. 
I was sitting very quietly in the pit with one of my play- 
mates, watching with pleasure dipas seul^ which was executed 
with much skill and grace by a pretty boy about our own 
age — the son of a French dancing-master who was passing 
through the city. After the fashion of dancers, he was 
dressed in a close-fitting doublet of red silk, which ended 
in a short full skirt, like a runner's tunic, reaching down 
to the knee. We had given our meed of applause to this 
young artist with the whole of the audience, when — I know 
not how — a moral reflection came into my head. I said 
to my companion, "How handsomely this boy is dressed, 
and how well he looks; who knows in how tattered a 
jacket he may sleep to-night ! " — People were already on 
their feet, but the crowd prevented our moving. A woman 
who had sat beside me, and who was now standing close 
to me, chanced to be the mother of the young artist, and 
felt much hurt by my reflection. Unfortunately, she knew 
German enough to understand me, and spoke just as much 
as enabled her to scold. She abused me violently. Who 
was I, she would like to know, to have the right to doubt 
the family and respectability of this young man? At all 
events, she would be bound he was as good as I, and his 
talents might probably procure him a fortune, of which I 
could not even venture to dream. This moral lecture she 
read me in the crowd, and made those about me wonder 
whatever rudeness I could have committed. As I could 
neither excuse myself nor escape from her, I was really 
embarrassed, and when she paused for a moment, said 
without thinking, " Well ! why make so much fuss ? — here 



1759-62] MARfeCHAL DE BROGLIO 8 1 

to-day, gone to-morrow." * These words seemed to strike 
the woman dumb. She stared at me, and moved away 
from me as soon as it was in any degree possible. I 
thought no more of my words ; it was only some time after- 
wards that they recurred to me, when the boy, instead of 
continuing to perform, fell ill of a very dangerous malady. 
Whether he died or not, I cannot say. 

Such premonitions in the shape of inopportune, or even 
unsuitable words, were held in repute even by the ancients, 
and it is very remarkable that the forms of belief and of 
superstition have remained unchanged among all peoples 
and in all periods. 

From the first day of the occupation of our city, incessant 
diversion might be had, especially for children and young 
people. Plays and balls, parades, and the marching through 
of troops, drew our attention hither and thither. The 
numbers passing through were always on the increase, and 
the soldiers* life seemed to us a merry and attractive one. 

The residence of the King's Lieutenant in our house 
procured us the advantage of gradually seeing all the dis- 
tinguished members of the French army, and especially of 
inspecting at close quarters the commanders, whose names 
were already known to us by reputation. It was quite easy 
for us to look down from staircases and landings, as though 
they had been galleries, upon the generals who passed by. 
In particular I remember the Prince Soubise as a hand- 
some, affable gentleman, but most distinctly of all the 
Marechal de Broglio, who was a younger man, not tall, 
but well-built, lively, and quick, with intelligent eyes for 
what was passing around him. 

He came frequently to the King's Lieutenant, and it 
was obvious that weighty matters were discussed. By the 
end of the first three months we were just beginning to get 
accustomed to having strangers quartered upon us, when a 
vague rumour was circulated that the Allies were on the 
march, and that Duke Ferdinand of Brunswick was coming 
to drive the French from the Maine. A poor opinion was held 
of the latter, as they had not been particularly successful in 
the war, and after the battle of Rossbach there seemed reason 
for despising them. Duke Ferdinand enjoyed the greatest 
♦ A German proverb, " Heute rot, morgan tot." 
VOL. I. G 



82 POETRY AND TRUTH [part i. book hi 

confidence, and all who were Prussian in their sympathies 
awaited with eagerness their deliverance from the yoke hitherto 
borne. My father was in somewhat better spirits — my mother 
was apprehensive. She was wise enough to see that a slight 
present discomfort might easily be exchanged for a great 
disaster ; for it was but too plain that the French would not 
advance to meet the Duke, but would wait to be attacked 
in the neighbourhood of the city. A defeat of the French, 
their flight, the defence of the city, if it were only to cover 
their retreat and to hold the bridge, a bombardment, a 
general pillage — all these possibilities presented themselves 
to the excited imagination, and were cause of anxiety to 
both parties. My mother, who could bear everything but 
suspense, imparted her fears to the Count through the 
interpreter. She received the usual answer in such cases : 
she might be quite easy, for there was nothing to fear, 
and should keep quiet and mention the matter to no one. 

Many troops passed through the city ; we learned that 
they had halted at Bergen. The coming and going, the 
riding and running constantly increased, and our house was 
in an uproar day and night. At this time I often saw 
Mardchal de Broglio, always cheerful, always the same in 
look and manner^ and I was afterwards pleased to find the 
man, whose appearance had made such a good and lasting 
impression upon me, honourably mentioned in history. 

Thus, after an unquiet Passion week, the Good Friday of 
1759 arrived. A profound stillness announced the approach- 
ing storm. We children were forbidden to quit the house : 
my father could not rest, and went out. The battle began : 
I went up into the garret, where, though I could not see the 
country round, I could plainly hear the thunder of cannons 
and the volleying of musketry. After some hours we saw 
the first evidences of the battle in a line of wagons, in which 
the wounded, sadly mutilated, and groaning with pain, were 
slowly driven past us, to be taken to the convent of St. 
Mary, now transformed into a hospital. The compassion 
of the citizens was instantly called forth. Beer, wine, 
bread, and money were distributed to such as were in a 
condition to receive them. But when shortly afterwards 
wounded and captive Germans were seen in the train, pity 
knew no limits, and it seemed as if everyone were anxious 



1759-62] DEFEAT OF THE PRUSSIANS 83 

to divest himself of all his goods and chattels to assist his 
suffering countrymen. 

The prisoners, however, were an indication that the 
battle was going against the Allies. My father, whose party 
feelings made him quite certain that they would come off 
victorious, had the reckless temerity to go forth to meet the 
expected victors, without thinking that the defeated party 
must run over him in their flight. He first repaired to his 
garden outside the Friedberg Gate, where he found every- 
thing quiet and deserted ; then he ventured on to the Born- 
heim Heath, where he soon descried various stragglers and 
camp followers, amusing themselves by shooting at the 
boundary-stones, so that the rebounding bullets whizzed about 
the head of the inquisitive wanderer. He therefore con- 
sidered it more prudent to go back, and learned on encpiry 
— as the sound of firing might have convinced him — that all 
stood well for the French, and that there was no thought of 
retreating. Reaching home out of temper, the sight of his 
wounded and captured countrymen made him altogether 
lose his usual self-control. He, too, caused various donations 
to be given to the passers-by, but only Germans were to 
have them, which was not always practicable, as fate had 
packed together friend and foe in the same wagon. 

My mother and we children, who had relied on the 
Count's word before this happened, and had therefore passed 
a tolerably quiet day, were highly rejoiced, and my mother 
was doubly reassured, for in the morning, when she con- 
sulted the oracle of her " Golden Treasury," by sticking a 
pin between the leaves, she had received a very consoling 
answer, both as regards the present and the future. We 
wished our father a similar faith and frame of mind; we 
flattered him as much s^ we could ; we entreated him to 
have something to eat, as he had taken nothing all day; 
but he repulsed our caresses and all food, and betook 
himself to his chamber. Our j oy, meanwhile, was untroubled ; 
the encounter was at an end ; the King's Lieutenant, who, 
contrary to his wont, had been on horseback to-day, at last 
returned home, where his presence was more necessary than 
ever. We sprang to meet him, kissed his hands, and testified 
our delight. This seemed to please him greatly. *' Well," 
said he more kindly than usual, " I am glad also for your 



84 POETRY AND TRUTH [part i. book hi 

sakes, my dear children." He immediately ordered sweet- 
meats, sweet wine, in short, the best of everything to be 
given us, and went to his room^ already surrounded by a 
crowd of persons, importuning him with demands and 
petitions. 

We now enjoyed a delicious feast, pitied our poor father 
who would not partake of it, and pressed our mother to go 
and call him; but she, wiser than we, well knew how 
distasteful such gifts would be to him. In the meantime she 
had prepared supper, and would have liked to send some up 
to his room, but he never permitted such irregularities even 
in the most extreme cases ; and after the sweet things were 
removed, we endeavoured to persuade him to come down 
into the ordinary dining-room. At last he unwillingly 
allowed himself to be persuaded, and we had no notion of 
the mischief which we were preparing for him and ourselves. 
The staircase ran through the whole house, past all the 
corridors. My father on his way down had to go directly 
past the Count's apartment. The hall outside his room 
was so full of people, that the Count, with a view to trans- 
acting various businesses at once, resolved to come out, and 
unfortunately this happened at the moment when my father 
was coming downstairs. The Count went up to him cheer- 
fully, greeted him, and remarked, " You must congratulate 
yourselves and us that this dangerous affair has terminated 
so happily." " By no means ! " replied my father in great 
wrath ; ** I wish they had driven you to the devil, even if I 
had had to go too." The Count paused for a moment, and 
then broke out in a rage — " You shall suffer for this," cried 
he; "you will find that you have not insulted the good 
cause and myself in this way for nothing ! " 

My father, meanwhile, had come down calmly, seated 
himself with us, seemed more cheerful than before, and 
begun to eat. We were glad of this, unconscious of the 
dangerous method in which he had unburdened his heart. 
Soon afterwards my mother was called out, and we longed 
to chatter to our father about the good things the Count had 
given us. Our mother did not return. At last the in- 
terpreter came in. At a hint from him we were sent to bed ; 
it was already late, and we obeyed willingly. After sleeping 
quietly all night, we heard of the violent commotion which 



1759-62] QUARREL WITH COUNT THORANE 85 

had perturbed the house the previous evening. The King's 
Lieutenant had instantly ordered my father to be taken to 
the guard-house. The subalterns knew very well that he 
was never to be contradicted ; yet they had often earned 
thanks by delaying to execute his orders. The interpreter, 
whose presence of mind never forsook him, succeeded in 
impressing this point of view upon them. The tumult, 
moreover, was so great, that delay under the circumstances 
would be unnoticed and excusable. He had called out 
my mother, and put the aide-de-camp, as it were, into her 
hands, so that by prayers and representations she might 
effect a brief respite. He himself hurried to the Count, who 
with his great self-command had immediately retired into 
the inner room, and preferred that the most urgent business 
should wait a moment, rather than wreak the ill-humour 
that had been aroused in him on an innocent person, and 
give a decision derogatory to his dignity. 

His own address to the Count, as well as the train of the 
whole conversation, were so often repeated to us by the 
fat interpreter, who prided himself not a little on the fortu- 
nate issue, that I can still reproduce it from memory. 

The interpreter had ventured to open the cabinet and 
enter, an act which was strictly prohibited. " What do you 
want ? " shouted the Count, angrily. " Out with you ! — no 
one but St. Jean has a right to enter here." 

" Well, suppose I am St. Jean for a moment," answered 
the interpreter. 

" It would need a lively imagination to do that ! Two 
of him would not make one such as you. Retire ! " 

" Count, you have received a great gift from heaven, 
and to that I appeal." 

"You think to flatter me I Do not fancy you will 
succeed." 

" You have the great gift. Count, of listening — even in 
moments of passion, in moments of anger — to the opinions 
of others." 

" Well, well, it is precisely a question of opinions that we 
have before us — opinions to which I have listened too long. 
I know but too well that we are not liked here, and that 
these burghers look askance at us*" 

"Not all!" 



86 POETRY AND TRUTH [part i. book hi 

" Very many. What ! Do these citizens call themselves 
citizens of the Empire ? They saw their Emperor elected 
and crowned, and when he is unjustly attacked and in 
danger of losing his dominions and surrendering to an 
usurper ; when he fortunately finds faithful allies who sacrifice 
their blood and their wealth in his behalf— they will not 
bear the slight burden that falls to their share, towards 
humbling the enemy ! " 

" But you have long known these sentiments, and have 
tolerated them like a wise man ; they are, besides, held only 
by a minority. A few, dazzled by the splendid qualities of 
the enemy, whom you yourself acknowledge to be an extra- 
ordinary man, a few only — as you are aware." 

** Yes, indeed ! I have known and tolerated it too long ; 
otherwise this man would not have presumed to utter such 
insults to my face, at the most critical moment. Let them 
be as many as they please, they shall be punished in the 
person of this their audacious representative, and find out 
what they have to expect." 

" Only delay, Count ! " 

" In some cases it is impossible to act too promptly." 

" Only a slight delay. Count ! " 

" Neighbour, you think to lead me into a false step ; you 
shall not succeed." 

" I would neither lead you into a false step nor keep you 
from one ; your resolution is just ; it becomes the French- 
man and the King's Lieutenant ; but consider that you are 
also Count Thorane ! " 

" He has nothing to say in this case." 

" But the gallant man has a right to be heard." 

" What would he say then ? " 

"King's Lieutenant," he would begin, "you have so 
long had patience with so many insignificant, disobliging, 
bungling men, if they did not go too far. This man cer- 
tainly went very far; do but prevail upon yourself to be 
equally patient now. King's Lieutenant, and every one will 
praise and extol you for so doing." 

*' You know I can often endure your jests, but do not 
abuse my good-wilL These people — are they completely 
blinded ? Suppose we had lost the battle, what would have 
been their fate at this moment? We fight to the very 



1759-62] THE INTERPRETER AND COUNT THORANE 87 

gates, we shut up the city, we halt, we defend ourselves to 
cover our retreat over the bridge. Think you, the enemy 
would have stood with his hands before him ? He throws 
grenades, and whatever he has at hand, and they set fire 
wherever possible. This householder — what would he have ? 
Here, in these rooms, a bomb might have burst this minute, 
and another have followed it; — in these rooms, where I 
spared the cursed China wall-papers and inconvenienced 
myself by not nailing up my maps ! They ought to have 
spent the whole day on their knees." 

" How many have done so ! " 

" They ought to have prayed for a blessing on us, and 
to have gone out to meet the generals and officers with 
tokens of honour and joy, and the wearied soldiers with 
refreshments. Instead of this, the poison of party-spirit 
destroys the fairest and happiest moments of my life, won 
by so many anxieties and efforts." 

"It is party-spirit; but you will only increase it by 
punishing this man. Those who think with him will 
proclaim you a tyrant and a barbarian : — they will consider 
him a martyr, who has suffered for the good cause; and 
even those of the other opinion, who are now his opponents, 
will see in him only their fellow- citizen, will pity him, and 
while they confess your justice, will yet feel that you have 
proceeded too severely." 

*' I have listened to you too long already, — now, away 
with you!" 

" Only listen to this one word more ! Remember this is 
the most unheard-of thing that could befall this man, this 
family. You have had no reason to be edified by the good- 
will of the master of the house ; but the mistress has antici- 
pated all your wishes, and the children have regarded you 
as their uncle. With this single blow, you will for ever 
destroy the peace and happiness of this dwelling. Indeed, 
I may say, that a bomb falling into the house, would not 
have occasioned greater desolation. I have so often 
admired your self-command. Count ; give me on this occa- 
sion reason to adore you. A warrior is worthy of honour 
who considers himself a guest in the house of an enemy ; 
but here there is no enemy, only a mistaken man. Prevail 
upon yourself, and you will acquire everlasting fame." 



88 POETRY AND TRUTH [part i. book hi 

" That would be odd," replied the Count, with a smile. 

" Merely natural," continued the interpreter ; " I have 
not sent the wife and children to your feet, because I know 
you detest such scenes ; but I will depict to you the grati- 
tude of this wife and these children. I will depict them to 
you talking all their lives of the Battle of Bergen, and of 
your magnanimity on this day, relating it to their children, 
and children's children, and inspiring even strangers with 
their own interest for you : an act of this kind can never 
perish." 

" But this does riot appeal to my weak side, interpreter ! 
About posthumous fame I am not in the habit of thinking ; 
that is for others, not for me ; but to do right at the moment, 
not to neglect my duty, not to prejudice my honour — that 
is my care. We have already had too many words ; now 
go — and receive the thanks of the thankless, whom I spare." 

The interpreter, surprised and moved by this unexpect- 
edly favourable issue, could not restrain his tears, and 
would have kissed the Count's hands. The Count motioned 
him off, and said sternly and gravely, "You know I 
cannot bear such things." And with these words he went 
into the passage to attend to his pressing affairs, and hear 
the wants of the waiting crowd. So the matter was disposed 
of, and next morning we celebrated with the remnants of 
the yesterday's sweetmeats the passing of a disaster which 
had menaced us while we were happily asleep. 

Whether the interpreter really spoke so wisely, or 
merely painted the scene in this way to himself, as one is 
apt to do after a virtuous and successful action, 1 will not 
decide ; at least he never varied in repeating it. Suffice it 
to say, this day seemed to him both the most anxious and 
the most glorious in his life. 

One little incident will show how the Count always 
rejected all false parade, never assumed a title which did 
not belong to him, and how witty he always was in his more 
cheerful moods. 

A man of good family, who was one of the eccentric, 
solitary Frankforters, felt it necessary to complain of the 
quartering of the soldiers upon him. He came in person, 
and the interpreter proffered his services, but the other con- 
sidered that he did not require them. He presented himself 



1759-62] PASSION FOR THE FRENCH THEATRE 89 

to the Count with a most gentlemanly bow, and said, " Your 
Excellency ! " The Count returned the bow, as well as the 
" Excellency." Surprised by this mark of honour, and in- 
ferring that the title was too humble, he bowed more deeply, 
and said, " Monseigneur." "Sir," said the Count, quite 
seriously, ** we will go no further, or else we might easily 
arrive at * Your Majesty.' " The gentleman was extremely 
confused, and had not a word to say. The interpreter, 
standing at some distance, and cognizant of the whole pro- 
ceeding, was spiteful enough not to move, but the Count 
continued with great sprightliness, " Well now, for example, 
sir, what is your name?" " Spangenberg," replied the 
other. " And mine," said the Count, " is Thorane. Span- 
genberg, what is your business with Thorane ? Now, then, 
let us sit down ; the matter shall be settled at once." 

And the matter was settled at once, to the great satis- 
faction of the person I have here called Spangenberg, and 
the very same evening, in our family circle, the story was 
not only related by the malicious interpreter, but was acted 
with all the details and gestures. 

After such disturbances, turmoil, and troubles, we soon 
returned to the security and thoughtlessness in which young 
people, especially, live from day to day, if it be at all 
possible. My passion for the French theatre grew with 
every performance. I did not miss a single evening, 
although, when I sat down with the family to supper after 
the play — often satisfied with scanty remains — I had to 
endiure the invariable reproaches of my father, that theatres 
were useless, and would lead to nothing. In these cases 
I adduced all and every available argument used by 
apologists of the stage when they find themselves in a diffi- 
culty such as mine. Vice in prosperity and virtue in mis- 
fortune are in the end set right by poetical justice. I laid 
stress on those beautiful examples of misdeeds punished. 
Miss Sara Sampsofty and The Merchant of London ; but, on 
the other hand, I often came off worst when Les Four- 
beries de Scapin, and similar plays, appeared on the pro- 
gramme, and I was twitted with the delight taken by the 
public in the impostures of intriguing servants, and the 
successful escapades of dissolute youths. Neither side 
convinced the other, but my father was very soon reconciled 



90 POETRY AND TRUTH [part i. book hi 

to the theatre when he saw with what incredible rapidity I 
was acquiring the French language. 

Men are so constituted that everybody is anxious to try 
his own hand at whatever he sees others doing, whether he 
has aptitude for it or not. I had soon covered the whole 
range of the French stage ; several pieces were being given 
for the second and third times ; all had passed before my 
eyes and mind, from the stateliest tragedy to the most 
frivolous afterpiece; and just as when a child I had pre- 
sumed to imitate Terence, so now as a boy I did not fail, 
on much greater incitement, to copy the French forms to 
the best of my ability and inability. At that time some 
half-mythological, half-allegorical pieces in the taste of 
Piron were being acted ; they had something of the nature 
of parody about them, and were very popular. These 
representations had a particular attraction for me : the little 
gold wings of a sprightly Mercury, the thunderbolt of a dis- 
guised Jupiter, an amorous Danae, or whatever the name of 
the fair one visited by the gods might be, if indeed it were 
not a shepherdess or huntress to whom they stooped. And 
as figures of this kind, from Ovid's Metamorphoses ^ or the 
Pantheon Mythicum of Pomey, very often flitted through my 
head — I had soon put together a little play of the same 
kind in imagination, of which I only remember that the 
scene was rural, but at the same time king's daughters, 
princes, and gods appeared in it. Mercury, especially, was 
so vividly before my mind's eye, that I could almost swear 
to having actually seen him. 

I presented my friend Derones with a very neat copy, 
made by myself, which he accepted very ceremoniously, 
and, with the manner of a real patron, glanced hastily over 
the manuscript, pointed out a few grammatical blunders, 
found some speeches too long, and finally promised to 
examine the work attentively and give his verdict when he 
had the requisite leisure. To my modest question, whether 
the piece could be performed, he assured me that it was not 
altogether impossible. In the theatre, he said, a great deal 
went by favour, and he would support me with all his heart : 
only the thing must be kept a secret ; for he had himself 
once surprised the manager with a piece of his own, and it 
would certainly have been acted, if the authorship had not 



1759-62] DRAMATIC THEORIES 9 1 

been discovered too soon. I promised him all possible 
secrecy ; and already saw in my mind's eye the name of my 
piece posted up in large letters at the corners of the streets 
and squares. 

Frivolous as my friend generally was, the opportunity 
of acting the part of master was only too attractive. He 
read the piece through with attention, and after sitting 
down with me to make some trivial alterations, in the course 
of the conversation turned the whole thing topsy-turvy, so 
that not one brick was left standing on another. He 
cancelled, added, took away one character, substituted 
another, — in short, proceeded with the wildest caprice in 
the world, so that my hair stood on end. My preconceived 
idea that he knew what he was talking about prevented my 
interfering ; for he had often talked so much to me about 
the Three Unities of Aristotle, the regularity of the French 
drama, dramatic probability, the harmony of the verse, 
and all cognate subjects, that I was fain to regard him, not 
merely as well-informed, but backed up by reason. He 
abused the English and scorned the Germans ; in short, he 
recited to me the same old dramatic theory which I have 
been obliged to hear repeated so often in my life. 

Like the boy in the fable, I carried my mangled off- 
spring home, and strove to restore it to life, but in vain. 
As, however, I did not wish to abandon it altogether, I had a 
fair copy made by our clerk from my first manuscript, with a 
few alterations, ^nd this copy I presented to my father, with 
the result that for some time afterwards he let me eat 
my supper in peace on returning from the play. 

This unsuccessful attempt had made me reflective, and 
I resolved now to study the sources of these theories, these 
laws, to which everyone appealed, but the truth of which I had 
begun to suspect, especially after the unmannerly conduct 
of my arrogant master. It was not difficult for me to do so, 
but entailed some hard reading. First I read Corneille's 
Treatise on the Three Unities^ and discovered from it the 
form of drama which people desired, but the reason why 
they desired this form was by no means clear to me, and, 
worst of all, I became involved in yet greater confusion 
when I made myself acquainted with the disputes on the 
Cid^ and read the prefaces in which Comeille and Racine 



92 POETRY AND TRUTH [part i. book hi 

are obliged to defend themselves against the critics and the 
public. Here at least I saw most plainly that no one knew 
what he was aiming at ; that a piece like the Cid, which 
had achieved the noblest success, was actually to have been 
condemned at the command of an all-powerful cardinal ; 
that Racine, the idol of the Frenchmen living in my day, 
who was now likewise my idol— (for I had come to know him 
well when SchofF von Olenschlager made us children act 
Britannia^ y\n which the part of Nero fell to me) — I saw 
that Racine, even in his own day, was unable to conciliate 
both amateurs and critics. Thus 1 became more perplexed 
than ever, and after tormenting myself a long time with these 
pros and cons, and the theoretical twaddle of the previous 
century, I cast away good and bad alike. I was the more 
resolute in throwing all this rubbish overboard, because 
I noticed that when authors of really excellent works 
began to discuss their own productions and to explain 
their methods, there was apt to be no little confusion 
in their attempts at self-defence, justification, or excuse. 
I hastened back again, therefore, to what the present 
day offered me, attended the theatre far more zealously, 
read more conscientiously and connectedly, so that I 
had the perseverance to work through the whole of 
Racine and Molifere, and a great part of Corneille, at 
this time. 

The King's Lieutenant still lived in our house. He had 
made no change in his behaviour, especially towards us; 
but it was observable, and the interpreter made it still more 
evident to us, that he no longer discharged his duties with 
the same cheerfulness and zeal as at the outset, though 
always with the same rectitude and fidelity. His character 
and habits, which showed the Spaniard rather than the 
Frenchman ; his caprices, which probably now and then 
affected his business transactions ; his refusal to accommo- 
date himself to circumstances ; his susceptibility to every- 
thing that touched his person or reputation — all this together 
may have sometimes brought him into conflict with his 
superiors. Added to this, he had been wounded in a duel, 
which had arisen in the theatre, and it was deemed wrong 
that the King's Lieutenant, himself chief of police, should 
have committed a punishable ofifence. All this, as has been 



»759-62] COUNT THORANE'S PICTURES 93 

said, may have contributed to make him live in greater 
retirement, and now and then perhaps to act with less 
energy. 

Meanwhile, a considerable number of the pictures he 
had ordered had been delivered. Count Thorane passed 
his leisure hours in examining them ; he had them nailed up 
in the aforesaid gable-room, canvas after canvas, large and 
small, side by side, and, from lack of space, even one over 
another, and then taken down and rolled up. The works 
were constantly inspected anew ; the parts that were con- 
sidered the most successful were a source of ever fresh 
delight ; but the wish that this or that had been differently 
done was also expressed. 

This gave rise to a new and very singular operation. 
As one artist excelled in figure-painting, another in the 
management of perspective, a third in trees, a fourth in 
flowers, it occurred to the Count that these talents might be 
combined in the paintings, and perfect works produced by 
this method. A beginning was made at once ; for instance, 
some beautiful flocks were painted into a finished landscape. 
But because there was not always an appropriate space, and 
a few sheep more or less was no great matter to the animal- 
painter, the most extensive landscape proved in the end too 
confined. Then the figure-painter had to introduce the 
shepherd, and some wayfarers; these, again, seemed to 
deprive each other of air ; and it was a wonder that they 
were not all stifled, even in the most open country. It was 
never possible to foresee what was to be the final result, 
and when the picture was finished it gave no satisfaction. 
The artists were annoyed They had profited by their 
first commissions, but lost by these supplementary labours, 
though the Count paid for these, too, very liberally, and 
as the miscellaneous parts, promiscuously introduced by 
several hands into one picture, failed of their effect after all 
the trouble taken, in the end each one fancied that his own 
work had been spoiled and destroyed by that of the others ; 
hence the artists were within a hair*s-breadth of falling out 
and becoming irreconcilable enemies. These alterations, or 
rather additions, were made in the before-mentioned studio, 
where I remained quite alone with the artists ; and I amused 
myself by selecting, particularly from the studies of animals, 



94 POETRY AND TRUTH [part i. book hi 

this or that individual or group, and proposing it for the 
foreground or the distance ; and, either from conviction or 
kindness, my suggestions were frequently followed. 

The participators in this business were, therefore, greatly 
discouraged, especially Seekatz^ a reserved and very splenetic 
person, whose incomparably good spirits nevertheless made 
him the best of companions when among friends, but when 
at work, he liked to be left alone, lost in thought and free 
to do as he liked. This man, after tackling difficult tasks, 
and finishing them with the greatest diligence and the 
warmest love, of which he was always capable, was forced 
to travel repeatedly from Darmstadt to Frankfort, either to 
change something in his own pictures, or to add figures to 
those of others, or even to assist in having his pictures con- 
verted into motley jumbles by a third person. His ill-humour 
increased, his resistance became more decided, and it needed 
many efforts on our part to induce this friend, whose connec- 
tion with us had recently become more intimate, to carry out 
the Count's wishes. I still remember that when the boxes 
were standing ready for packing all the pictures in the right 
order, so that on arriving at their place of destination the 
upholsterer might hang them at once, it was found that a trifling 
but indispensable bit of supplementary work was required, 
but Seekatz could not be induced to come over. He had, in 
fact, finally done his very best in a series of pictures to be 
placed over the doors, representing the four elements in the 
guise of children and youths copied from life, and had ex- 
pended the greatest care, not only on the figures, but on the 
accessories. These pictures had been delivered and paid for, 
and he thought he had said good-byeto the business for ever ; 
but now he was to come back again, in order to enlarge, 
by a few strokes of his brush, certain pictures which did not 
fulfil the required measurements. Some one else, he 
thought, could do it just as well : he had already set about 
a new piece of work ; in short, he would not come. The 
time for sending off the pictures was at hand ; they must 
also have time to dry ; every delay was most awkward ; and 
the Count, in despair, was about to have him fetched by 
military authority. We all wished to see the last of the 
pictures, and in the end were reduced to sending our friend 
the interpreter in a carriage to fetch the refractory subject. 



1759-62] DEPARTURE OF COUNT THORANE 95 

with wife and child. He was kindly received by the Count, 
well treated, and at last dismissed, loaded with presents. 

After the pictures had been sent away, great peace 
reigned in the house. The gable-room in the roof was 
cleaned and given up to me ; and my father, when he saw 
the boxes go, could not stifle the wish to send the Count 
after them. For much as the tastes of the Count coincided 
with his own, much as he must have rejoiced to see his 
principle of patronizing living artists so generously put into 
practice by a man richer than himself, much as it may have 
flattered him to see his collection the means of bringing so 
considerable a profit to a number of honest artists in hard 
times, he nevertheless felt such a repugnance to the foreign 
interloper in his house, that he could not think well of any 
of his doings. He thought painters ought to be employed, 
but not degraded to upholsterers ; one ought to be satisfied 
with the result of their conviction and ability, even if it did 
not please one altogether ; and one ought not to be perpetually 
cavilling at and bargaining about it. In short, in spite of 
all thq Count's own generous endeavours, there could, once 
for all, be no mutual understanding. My father only visited 
the Count's room when he was at table, and I can recall but 
one instance when the wish to see certain pictures in which 
Seekatz had surpassed himself had brought the whole 
household together: my father and the Count met and 
expressed a common pleasure in these works of art, which 
they could not take in each other. 

Scarcely, therefore, had the house been cleared of the 
boxes and cases, than the plan for removing the Count, which 
had been initiated some time before, but afterwards inter- 
rupted, was resumed. We endeavoured to gain justice by 
representations, equity by entreaties, favour by influence, with 
the result that the billeting authorities came to the follow- 
ing decision : the Count was to change his lodgings, and our 
house, in consideration of the burden borne uninterruptedly 
day and night for several years, was to be exempt for the 
future from billeting. But, to furnish a plausible pretext, 
we were to take in lodgers on the first floor, which the 
Count had occupied, and thus make, as it were, a new 
quartering out of the question. The Count, who after the 
separation from his dear pictures no longer felt any special 



g6 POETRY AND TRUTH [part i. book hi 

interest in the house, and hoped, moreover, to be soon 
recalled and stationed elsewhere, had no objection to moving 
to another comfortable residence, and parted from us in 
peace and good-will. Soon afterwards he quitted the city, 
and received successive promotions, but, it was rumoured, 
not to his satisfaction. Meantime, he had the pleasure of 
seeing the pictures, which he had had painted with so much 
care, duly arranged in his brother's chateau ; he wrote several 
times, sent dimensions, and had various additional paintings 
executed by the artists so often named. Finally, we heard 
nothing more of him, except that some years later we were 
assured that he had died as governor of one of the French 
colonies in the West Indies. 



FOURTH BOOK 

Much inconvenience as the quartering of the French had 
occasioned us, we had become so accustomed to it, that 
we could not fail to miss it, nor could we children help 
feeling the house deserted. Moreover, we were not to return 
to undisturbed family unity. Arrangements had already 
been made with new lodgers, and after a certain amount of 
sweeping and scouring, planing and polishing, painting and 
whitewashing, the house was completely restored, l^he 
Kanzleidirektor * Moritz, with his family, very valued friends 
of my parents, moved in. He was not a native of Frank- 
fort, but an able jurist and man of business, and transacted 
the legal business of many minor princes, counts, and noble- 
men. I never saw him otherwise than cheerful and pleasant, 
and busy with his law papers. His wife and children, 
though gentle, quiet, and amiable, did not, as a matter of 
fact, increase the sociableness of our house, for they kept 
very much to themselves ; but a stillness, a peace returned, 
such as we had not enjoyed for a long time. I now 
occupied my attic once more, and though the ghosts of the 
many pictures sometimes haunted me, I endeavoured to 
banish them by work and study. 

Another Moritz, a brother of the Kanzleidirektor^ who 
was Councillor to the Danish Legation, from this time often 
came to our house. He was more a man of the world, had 
a handsome figure, while his manners were easy and agreeable. 
He too transacted business for various persons of rank, and 
in connection with meetings of creditors and imperial com- 
missions frequently came into contact with my father. They 

* Kamleidirektor = chief administrator of an estate belonging to a 
nobleman inferior to a prince. 

VOL. T. 97 H 



98 POETRY AND TRUTH [part i. book iv 

had a high opinion of each other, and usually took the side 
of the creditors, though they generally discovered, to their 
annoyance, that the majority of the commissioners on such 
occasions are usually won over to the side of the debtors. The 
Councillor of Legation liked to communicate his knowledge ; 
he was a lover of mathematics, and as he had no occasion to 
use them in his present walk of life, it gave him pleasure 
to help me in this branch of study. I was thus enabled to 
work out my architectural sketches more accurately than 
heretofore, and to profit more by the instruction of a 
drawing-master, who now provided us with an hour's daily 
occupation. 

This worthy old man was indeed but half an artist. He 
made us draw strokes, join them together, and from these 
were to be evolved eyes and noses, lips and ears, nay, in the 
end, whole faces and heads ; but natural or artistic form was 
never thought of in the process. We were tormented a long 
while with the qui pro quo of the human figure, and when 
the so-called Passions of Le Brun were given us to copy, it 
was supposed that we were really getting on at last. But" 
even these caricatures did not improve us. Then we went 
on to landscapes, foliage, and all the things which in ordinary 
instruction are practised without logical sequence or method. 
Finally we gave ourselves up to close imitation and neatness 
of stroke, without troubling ourselves about the merit or 
taste of the original. 

In these attempts our father led the way in an exemplary 
manner. He had never drawn, but he was unwilling to be 
left behind now that his children were pursuing this art, and 
desired, even in his old age, to set an example as to how 
they should proceed in their youth. He therefore copied 
several heads of Piazzetta, from his well-known small octavo 
sheets, with an English lead-pencil upon the finest Dutch 
paper. In these he not only observed the greatest clearness 
of outline, but most accurately imitated the hatching of the 
copper-plate with a light hand — only too slightly, as in his 
desire to avoid hardness he made no contrast between 
light and shade in his sketches. Yet they always showed 
delicate handling and unremitting care. His persistent and 
untiring assiduity went so far that he copied the whole con- 
siderable collection, number by number, while we children 



1762-65] THE ECCENTRIC MUSIC-MASTER 99 

jumped from one head to another, and chose only those 
that pleased us. 

About this time the long-debated project for giving us 
lessons in music was carried into effect; and the final 
inducement deserves special mention. It was settled that 
we should learn the harpsichord; but the choice of a 
master had been a constant subject of dispute. At last I 
happened to go into the room of one of my companions, 
who was just having a lesson on the harpsichord, and 
discovered that the teacher was a most charming man. For 
each finger of the right and left hand he had a nickname 
by which he called it, in the most amusing way, whenever it 
had to be used. The black and white keys, likewise, bad 
symbolical names, and even the notes appeared under 
figurative appellations. Such a motley company worked 
together most pleasantly. Fingering and time seemed to 
become perfectly easy and obvious, and since the scholar was 
put into the best of humours, everything went excellently. 

Scarcely had I reached home, than I importuned my 
parents to immediately set about the matter in good earnest, 
and let us have this incomparable man for our master on the 
harpsichord. They hesitated, and made inquiries ; they did 
not hear anything bad of the teacher ; but, at the same time, 
nothing particularly good. Meanwhile I had related all the 
droll names to my sister ; we could hardly wait for the lessons 
to begin, and succeeded in having the man engaged. 

The reading of the notes began first, but as no jokes 
occurred here, we comforted ourselves with the hope that 
when we came to the harpsichord, and the fingers were 
needed, the jocular method would commence. But neither 
keys nor fingering seemed to afford opportunity for any 
comparisons. Dry as the notes were, with their dots 
on and between the five lines, the black and white keys 
were no less so: and not a syllable was heard either of 
" thumbling," " pointerling," or "goldfinger," while the 
countenance of the man remained as imperturbable during 
his dry teaching as it had been before during his dry jests. 
My sister reproached me most bitterly for having deceived 
her, and actually believed that it was all an invention of 
mine. But I was myself nonplussed and learned little, 
though the man went to work systematically enough : for 



ICK) POETRY AND TRUTH [part i. book iv 

I kept on expecting that the former jokes would make their 
appearance, and consoled my sister with this hope from day 
to day. They did not reappear, however, and I should 
never have been able to explain the riddle, if another 
accident had not solved it for me. 

One of my playmates came in during a lesson, and at 
once the fountain of humour began to play in full force; 
the '* thumblings " and " pointerTings," the ^* crawlers " and 
** sprawlers," as he used to call the fingers, the " Fakchen " 
and *'Gakchen," meaning "f" and "g," the "Fiekchen" 
and "Giekchen," meaning "f" and "g" sharp, made their 
appearance once more, and played the part of the most 
wonderful mannikins. My young friend could not leave off 
laughing, and was delighted that it was possible to learn so 
much in such an amusing way. He vowed he would leave 
his parents no peace until they let him have such an excel- 
lent man for a teacher. 

And thus, in accordance with the principles of a modern 
theory of education, the way to two arts was early opened 
to me, merely at haphazard, and without any conviction 
that I had natural talent to help me on in either. My 
father maintained that everybody ought to learn drawing; 
for which reason he especially venerated the Emperor 
Maximilian, who is said to have given express command 
to this effect. He therefore kept me to it more steadily 
than to music, which, on the other hand, he especially 
recommended to my sister, and in addition to her lesson- 
hours, kept her busy at her harpsichord during a good part 
of the day. 

But the more I was made to study, the more I wished 
to study, and even my leisure hours were given up to all 
sorts of curious occupations. From my earliest years I had 
a passion for investigating natural things. It is often con- 
sidered an innate love of cruelty that makes children in the 
end break, tear, and mutilate objects with which they have 
played for a long time and used in various ways. Yet this 
is often the expression of their curiosity, the desire to 
learn how such things are put together, and what they look 
like inside. I remember as a child pulling flowers to 
pieces to see how the leaves were inserted in the calyx, 
or even plucking birds to discover how the feathers were 



1762-65] CHILDISH EXPERIMENTS lOI 

inserted in the wings. Children are not to be blamed 
for so doings when even naturalists believe they often learn 
more by separating and dividing than by uniting and com- 
bining, — more by killing than by making alive. 

A magnet and armature, daintily covered with scarlet 
cloth, had at one time to suffer the effects of this spirit of 
inquiry. For the secret force of attraction, which was not 
only exercised on the little iron bar attached to it, but was 
also so constituted that it gained strength and could daily bear 
a heavier weight — this mysterious virtue had filled me with 
such admiration, that for a long time I was pleased with merely 
watching* it at work. But at last I thought I might derive 
further enlightenment by tearing off the outside covering. 
This I did, but I was none the wiser, as the naked armature 
taught me nothing further. This also I removed, and I 
held in my hand the mere stone, with which I never grew 
weary of making experiments of various kinds on filings and 
needles — experiments from which my youthful mind drew 
no further advantage than that of a varied experience. I 
could not manage to put the parts together again ; they were 
soon scattered, and I lost both apparatus and wonderful 
phenomenon. 

Nor was I more successful in putting together an 
electrical machine. A friend of the family, whose youth 
coincided with the time when electricity occupied all minds, 
often told us how, as a child, he had desired to possess such 
a machine, had discovered what were the principal requisites, 
and with the help of an old spinning-wheel and some 
medicine glasses, had produced tolerable results. As he 
was fond of repeating the story, and in so doing gave us 
some general information on electricity, it all seemed very 
straightforward to us children, and for a long time we 
tormented ourselves with an old spinning-wheel and some 
medicine glasses, without producing the smallest result. 
We nevertheless adhered to our belief, and were much de- 
lighted when at the time of the fair, among other curiosities, 
magical and legerdemain tricks, an electrical machine showed 
off its marvels, which, like those of magnetism, even at that 
time were comparatively numerous. 

The want of confidence in the methods of public instruc- 
tion was daily increasing. People looked about for private 



102 POETRY AND TRUTH [part i. book iv 

tutors, and because single families could not afford the 
expense, several of them combined to attain their end. 
Yet the children seldom got on well together, the young 
man had not sufficient authority, and, after frequent un- 
pleasantnesses, it ended in angry partings. It is not sur- 
prising, therefore, that other arrangements were thought 
of which should be more permanent as well as more 
advantageous. 

The idea of establishing boarding-schools {Penshnen) 
arose from the necessity which everyone felt for having 
the French language taught as a living tongue. My father 
had brought up a youth, who had been his footman, valet, 
secretary, and, in short, had by degrees become his general 
factotum. This man, whose name was Pfeil, had a good 
knowledge of French, and spoke it well. After he had 
married, and his patrons had to think of a situation for him, 
the idea occurred to them that he might establish a board- 
ing-school ; and this gradually developed into a small 
academy, in which everything necessary, and at last even 
Greek and Latin, were taught. The far-reaching connections 
enjoyed by Frankfort were the means of attracting young 
Frenchmen and Englishmen to this establishment, in order 
to learn German and continue their education. Pfeil, who 
was a man in the prime of life, and of the most wonderful 
energy and activity, superintended the whole in a very 
creditable manner. As he could never have too much 
to do, and was obliged to engage music-teachers for his 
scholars, he embraced the opportunity to take up music, and 
practised the harpsichord with such zeal that, without having 
previously touched a note, he very soon played with great 
skill and correctness. He seemed to have adopted my 
father's maxim, that nothing can encourage and stimulate 
young people more than for a person of mature years to 
declare himself again a learner, and at an age when new 
accomplishments are acquired with difficulty, nevertheless 
endeavour by zeal and perseverance to excel those who are 
younger and more favoured by nature. 

By this love of harpsicord-playing "Pfeirs attention was 
directed to the instruments themselves, and in the hopes of 
obtaining the best, he put himself into communication with 
Frederici of Gera, whose instruments were celebrated far and 



1762-65] BREEDING OF SILK-WORMS I03 

wide. He took a number of them on commission^ and had 
the felicity of seeing not one only, but several grand pianos, 
standing in his residence, and of practising and playing before 
people on them. 

It was through the enterprise of this man that music was 
diligently cultivated in our house also. My father continued 
on good terms with him, apart from certain points of 
dispute. One of Frederici's grand pianos was purchased 
also for us, but I remained faithful to my harpsichord, and 
hardly touched it j on the other hand, it was the source of 
added troubles to my sister, who, in order to do proper 
honour to the new instrument, had to spend some time 
longer every day in practice ; while my father, as superin* 
tendent, and Pfeil, as a model and encouraging family 
friend, alternately took their stand at her side. 

A particular hobby of my father's caused much incon- 
venience to us children. This was the cultivation of silk, of 
the advantages of which, if it were more generally introduced, 
he had a high opinion. Some acquaintances at Hanau, 
where the breeding of silk-worms was carried on with 
great care, supplied the first incentive. Thence, at the 
proper season, the eggs were sent to him, and as soon as 
the mulberry-trees showed sufficient foliage, they were 
hatched out, and the barely visible creatures were tended 
with the greatest care. Tables and trestles with boards 
were set up in one of the attics, to provide them with more 
room and sustenance ; for they grew rapidly, and, after their 
last change of skin, were so voracious, that it was scarcely 
possible to get leaves enough to feed them ; in fact, they had 
to be fed day and night, as everything depends upon their 
having plenty of nourishment when the great and wonderful 
transformation is about to take place in them. If the 
weather was favourable, it was possible to regard this 
business as a pleasant amusement; but if cold set in, so 
that the mulberry-trees suffered, it was exceedingly trouble- 
some. Still more unpleasant was it if rain fell during the 
last stage, for these creatures cannot stand moisture at all, 
and the wet leaves had to be carefully wiped and dried, 
which could not always be done perfectly; and for this, 
or perhaps some other reason, various diseases invaded 
the colony and carried off the poor things by thousands. 



I04 POETRY AND TRUTH [part i book iv 

The corruption which ensued produced an odour positively 
pestilential, and since the dead and diseased caterpillars had 
to be taken away and separated from the healthy ones, it 
was, as a matter of fact, an extremely arduous and repulsive 
occupation, and cauised us children many an unhappy 
hour. 

One year, after we had passed the finest weeks of the 
spring and summer in tending the silk-worms, we were 
obliged to assist our father in another business, which, 
though simpler, was no less burdensome. The Roman 
views, fastened at top and bottom to black rods, which had 
hung for many years on the walls of the old house, had 
turned very yellow through the light, dust, and smoke, and 
had been considerably defaced by the flies. Although such 
uncleanliness was not to be tolerated in the new house, on 
the other hand these pictures had gained an added value 
for my father by his prolonged absence from the places 
represented. For at first such reproductions only serve to 
refresh and vivify impressions which have been recently 
received. Compared to these, they seem trifling, and at the 
best only a melancholy substitute. But as the remembrance 
of the originals fades more and more, the copies imper- 
ceptibly assume their place, they become as dear to us as 
those once were, and what we at first disdained, now enjoys 
our esteem and affection. Thus it is with sdl copies, and 
particularly with portraits. No one is easily satisfied with 
the likeness of some one who is present, but how precious is 
every hasty sketch of an absent, or, still more, of a departed 
friend. 

In short, conscious of having hitherto treated these 
engravings with wasteful neglect, my father wished to see 
them restored as much as possible. It was well known that 
this could be done by bleaching ; and the operation, always 
a delicate one in the case of large plates, was undertaken 
under rather unfavourable circumstances. For the large 
boards on which the tarnished engravings were moistened 
and exposed to the sun, stood in the gutters in front of the 
garret windows, leaning against the roof, and were therefore 
liable to many accidents. The main thing was, that the 
paper must not be allowed ever to become thoroughly dry, 
but must be kept constantly moist. This was the duty of 



1762-65] LESSONS IN ENGLISH 10$ 

my sister and myself; and the leisure, which would other- 
wise have been so welcome, was turned into positive torture 
on account of the tedium and impatience it involved, and 
the watchfulness which allowed of no distraction. Never- 
theless, the process was carried out, and the bookbinder, who 
mounted each sheet upon stout paper, did his best to smooth 
out and repair the margins, which had been torn here and 
there through our remissness. All the sheets were bound in 
one volume, and saved for the time being. 

To ensure that we children should not be cut off from 
life and learning of any kind, an English master must needs 
announce himself just at this time, who pledged himself to 
teach English to anybody not entirely untrained in languages, 
within four weeks, and enable him to reach a stage at which, 
with a certain amount of industry, he could go on by him- 
self. He was content with a moderate fee ; the number of 
pupils at one' lesson made no difference to him. My father 
instantly determined to make the experiment, and took 
lessons, with my sister and myself, from this expeditious 
master. The lessons were given conscientiously ; nor did 
we fail to go over the work ; other tasks were neglected 
rather than this, during the four weeks; and the teacher 
parted from us, and we from him, with satisfaction. As 
he remained in the town for some time, and found many 
employers, he came from time to time to see how we were 
getting on, and to help us, grateful that we had been among 
the first who placed confidence in him, and proud to be able 
to cite us as examples to the others. 

My father, in consequence, felt a new anxiety that 
English should retain its proper place among my other 
Unguistic studies. Now, I will confess that it became 
more and more irksome to me to take my subjects for study 
now from this grammar or collection of examples, now from 
that ; now from one author, now from another, and so fritter 
away my interest in the subjects as well as in the lessons. 
It occurred to me, therefore, that I might kill several birds 
with one stone by inventing a romance about six or seven 
brothers and sisters, who lived at a distance from one 
another in various parts of the world, and sent one another 
news as to their circumstances and impressions. The 
eldest brother gives an account in good German of various 



I06 POETRY AND TRUTH [part i. book iv 

subjects and incidents connected with his journey. The 
sister, in a feminine style, with short sentences and incessant 
full-stops, after the manner of Siegwart at a later date, writes 
answers, now to him, now to the other brothers, partly about 
domestic matters, and partly about affairs of the heart. One 
brother studies theology, and writes a very formal Latin, to 
which he often adds a Greek postscript. To another 
brother, a clerk in a business house in Hamburg, the English 
correspondence naturally falls, while to a younger one 
living at Marseilles is intrusted the French. For ItaUan there 
was found a musician, just making a start in life; while the 
youngest, a sort of pert nestling, had applied himself to Jew- 
German, as the other languages were already appropriated, 
and by his frightful ciphers reduced the others to despair, 
and made my parents laugh heartily at the happy idea. 

I sought for matter to fill in this strange frame-work by 
studying the geography of the countries in which my crea- 
tions resided, and by investing those dry localities with all 
sorts of human interests having some connection with the 
characters and occupations of my heroes. Thus my 
exercise-books became much more voluminous, my father 
was better satisfied, and I was much sooner made aware of 
the gaps in my knowledge and acquirements. 

Now, things of this kind once begun are apt to outgrow 
all limits, and so it was in the present case ; for, when I 
endeavoured to acquire the odd Jew-German, and to write 
it as well as I could read it, I soon discovered that I ought 
to know Hebrew, by the aid of which alone the modern cor- 
rupted and degenerate dialect could be derived and treated 
with any certainty. I therefore explained the necessity of 
my learning Hebrew to my father, and earnestly besought his 
consent, for I had besides a higher end in view. I heard 
it said on all hands that a knowledge of the original 
languages was requisite to understand both the Old 
Testament and the New. The latter I could read quite 
easily, because, in order that even Sunday should not be 
without its appointed tasks, the so-called Gospels and 
Epistles had, after church, to be recited, translated, and 
explained to some extent. I now designed doing the same 
thing with the Old Testament, the peculiar character of 
which had always especially appealed to me. 



i762'6sl RECTOR ALBRECHT I07 

My father, who did not like to do anything by halves, 
made up his mind to ask the rector of our Gymnasium, one 
Dr. Albrecht, to give me private lessons weekly, until I 
should have acquired the essential elements of so simple a 
language, for he hoped that if it could not be mastered as 
quickly as English, it could at any rate be managed in 
double the time. 

Rector Albrecht was one of the most original figures in 
the world, short, not fat, but broad, misshapen without 
being deformed, — in short, an ^sop in gown and wig. 
His face of over seventy years was distorted into a 
sarcastic smile, while his eyes remained large, and, though 
red, were always brilliant and intelligent. He lived in the 
old monastery of the Barefoot Friars, now used as the 
Gymnasium. Even as a child, I had often visited him in 
company with my parents, and, with a kind of shuddering 
dehght, had glided through the long dark passages, the 
chapels transformed into reception-rooms, the rambling 
buildings with their many stairs and comers. Without 
annoying me, he examined me whenever we met, and 
praised and encouraged me. One day, on the occasion of 
the pupils' promotion after a public examination, he saw 
me standing as an outside spectator, not far from his desk, 
while he distributed the silver pramia virtuHs et diligentia, I 
was probably gazing very longingly at the little bag out of 
which he drew the medals ; he beckoned to me, descended 
a step, and handed me one of the silver coins. My joy was 
great, although others thought that the bestowal of this gift 
upon a boy not belonging to the school was most irregular. 
But this was a matter of complete indifference to the good 
old man, who had always been eccentric and shown it in 
conspicuous ways. He had a very good reputation as a 
schoolmaster, and understood his business, although age no 
longer allowed him to practise it thoroughly. But he felt 
himself hampered by external circumstances almost more 
than by his own infirmities, and, as I already knew, was 
not in harmony either with the consistory, the inspectors, 
the clergy, or the teachers. He was by temperament 
inclined to satire, and on the watch for weaknesses and 
failings; such feelings he vented freely, both in his 
dissertations and his public speeches, and as Lucian was 



I08 POETRY AND TRUTH [part I. BOOK iv 

almost the only writer whom he read and esteemed, he 
seasoned all that he said and wrote with caustic wit. 

Fortunately for those whom he disliked, he never 
made an open attack, but only jeered covertly at the defects 
which he wanted to re[M:ove, with hints, allusions, classic 
quotations, and Scripture texts. Moreover, his delivery — he 
always read his discourses — ^was unpleasant, unintelligible, 
and, above all, was often interrupted by a cough, but more 
frequentiy by a hollow convulsive laugh, with which he was 
wont to announce and accompany the biting passages. 
This singular man I found to be mild and obliging when 
I began to take lessons from him. I now went to him 
daily at six o'clock in the evening, and always experienced 
a secret pleasure when the outer door closed behind me, 
and I had to thread the long and gloomy cloisters. We sat 
in his library at a table covered with oil-cloth, a much-read 
Lucian always at hand. 

In spite of all my willingness, I did not get at what I 
wanted without its costing me something, for my teacher 
could not suppress certain sarcastic remarks as to what 
I really wanted with Hebrew. I concealed from him my 
designs with regard to Jew-German, and spoke of a better 
understanding of the original text. He smiled at this, and 
said I ought to be satisfied if I only learned to read. This 
vexed me in secret, and I concentrated all my attention 
when we came to the letters. I found an alphabet some- 
thing like the Greek, of which the forms were easy, and the 
names, for the most part, not new to me. All this I had 
quickly understood and learned, and supposed we should 
now begin to read. This, 1 was well aware, was done from 
right to left. But now, all at once appeared a new army 
of little characters and signs, of points and strokes of all 
sorts, which were in fact to represent vowels. At this I 
wondered the more, as there were manifestly vowels in the 
larger alphabet, and the others only appeared to be hidden 
under strange appellations. I was also taught, that the 
Jewish nation, so long as it flourished, had, in point of fact, 
been content with the first signs, and had known no other 
way of writing and reading. I should have liked very much 
to have gone on along this ancient, and, as it seemed to 
me, easier path ; but my worthy instructor declared rather 



1762-65] HEBREW STUDIES IO9 

sternly, that we must be guided by the grammar in its 
generally accepted form. Reading without these points 
and strokes, he said, was a very difficult matter, and could 
only be undertaken by the learned, and the most highly 
trained scholars. I must therefore make up my mind to 
learn these little characters ; but this only made confusion 
worse confounded At one time, it seemed, some of the 
primary and larger letters were to have no significance where 
they stood, simply that their little after-born kindred might 
not stand useless. At another time they were to indicate a 
gentle breathing, then a guttural, more or less harsh. Or again 
they were merely pegs on which to hang the others. But, 
finally, when one fancied that one had taken in everything, 
properly, some of these personages, both large and small, were 
made sleeping partners, and became inactive, so that one's 
eyes always had very much, and one's lips very little, to do. 
When I had to stutter in a strange gibberish what I 
already knew in substance, in doing which certain nasal 
and guttural sounds were set before me as unattainable 
achievements, my ardour cooled, and I diverted myself in a 
childish way with the singular names of these multitudinous 
signs. There were "emperors," "kings," and "dukes,"* 
which, holding sway here and there in the form of accents, 
were the source of no small amusement. But even these trivial 
jests soon lost their charm. Nevertheless, I was indemnified, 
inasmuch as by reading, translating, repeating, and com- 
mitting to memory, the contents of the book came out more 
vividly, and it was really here that I needed my old friend's 
elucidations. For even before this time the contradictions 
between tradition and the actual and possible had forcibly 
struck me, and I had often reduced my tutors to dire 
straits with the sun which stood still on Gibeon, and the 
moon in the valley of Ajalon, to say nothing of other 
improbabilities and inconsistencies. All these questions 
were now revived again, as, in order to master the Hebrew, 
I occupied myself exclusively with the Old Testament, and 
no longer studied it in Luther's translation, but in the literal 
parallel version of Sebastian Schmid, which my father 
had procured for me. At this point, unfortunately, our 

* These are ihe technical names for classes of accents in the Hebrew 
grammai,— Trans, 



no POETRY AND TRUTH [part i. book iv 

lessons began to be interrupted, so far as linguistic exercises 
were concerned. Reading, interpretation, grammar, tran- 
scribing, and the repetition of words, seldom lasted a full 
half-hour ; for I at once made straight for the meaning of what 
I read, and, though we were still engaged upon the Book of 
Genesis, I began to discuss various points suggested to me 
by later books. At first the good old man tried to recall 
me from such digressions, but in the end they seemed to 
interest him also. It was impossible for him to suppress 
his characteristic cough and chuckle, and although he care- 
fully avoided giving me any information that might have 
compromised him, my persistency did not relax; nay, as 
I cared more to state my doubts than to have them 
solved, I grew more and more animated and daring, and he 
seemed to justify me by his attitude. Yet I could get 
nothing out of him, except that time upon time he would 
exclaim, with his peculiar convulsive laugh, " What a foolish 
fellow I What a foolish boy ! " 

Still, my childish ardour in examining the Bible in all 
directions may have seemed to him not altogether frivolous, 
and deserving of some assistance. He therefore referred 
me, after a time, to the large English Biblical work which 
stood in his library, and in which the interpretation of 
difficult and doubtful passages was attempted hi an intelli- 
gent and judicious manner. Thanks to the laborious efforts 
of German divines, the translation possessed advantages 
over the original. The different opinions were cited, and in 
the end a kind of compromise was attempted which should 
take into account the high value of the book, the foundations 
of religion, and the claims of human reason. So, whenever 
towards the close of the lesson I brought forward the usual 
questions and doubts, he invariably pointed to the book- 
shelf. I fetched the volume; he let me read, turned the 
leaves of his Lucian, and when I made any remarks on the 
book, his customary laugh was the only answer to my per- 
spicacity. In the long summer days he let me sit as long as 
I could read, often by myself ; but it was some time before 
he would allow me to take one volume after another home 
with me. 

Let a man turn whither he will, and take in hand whatso- 
ever he please, he will always return to the path marked 



1762-65] THE OLD TESTAMENT ^ III 

out for him by nature. So it fared with me, too, in the 
present case. My endeavours with regard to the language, 
to the contents of the Sacred Scriptures even, finally resulted 
in producing in my imagination a more vivid picture of that 
beautiful and highly praised land, its surroundings and 
neighbouring countries, as well as of the people and events 
which shed a glory over that little spot of earth for thousands 
of years. 

This small tract of land was to see the origin and growth 
of the human race ; thence we were to derive our first and 
only account of primitive history ; and this region was to 
present itself to our imagination, at once simple and 
comprehensible, and at the same time rich in possibilities, 
and adapted to the most wonderful migrations and settle- 
ments. Here, between four rivers, mentioned by name, a 
small and most pleasing spot was set apart from the whole 
habitable earth for youthful man. Here he was to unfold 
his first capacities, and here, too, the fate, involving all his 
posterity, was to befall him, namely, the loss of his peace 
by striving after knowledge. Paradise was forfeited ; men 
multiplied and degenerated ; and the Elohim, not yet accus- 
tomed to the wickedness of the new race, became impatient 
and utterly destroyed it. Only a few were saved from the 
universal deluge; and scarcely had this dreadful flood 
ceased, than the well-known land of their fathers lay once 
more before the eyes of the grateful survivors. 

Two rivers out of four, the Euphrates and Tigris, still 
flowed in their beds. The name of the first remained ; the 
course of the latter apparently supplied its designation. 
More precise traces of Paradise could not be looked for 
after so great a subversion. The renewed race of man 
spread* thence for the second time ; it found opportunities 
for maintaining and occupying itself in all sorts of ways, but 
chiefly for collecting large herds of tame animals and for 
wandering with them in every direction. 

This mode of life, as well as the increase of the tribes, 
soon compelled the people to disperse. They could not at 
once make up their minds to let their relatives and friends 
go for ever ; they hit upon the idea of building a lofty tower 
which should show them the way back from the far distance. 
But this attempt, like their first endeavour, miscarried. They 



112 POETRY AND TRUTH [part I. book iv 

were not to be at the same time happy and wise, numerous 
and united. The Elohim confounded them — the building 
ceased — mankind was dispersed — ^the world was peopled, 
but disunited. 

But our glances, our sympathies, still turn towards these 
regions. In time there appears here once again the fomider 
of a race, fortunate enough to stamp a distinct character 
upon his descendants, and thus to weld them for all time 
into a great nation, united through all vicissitudes of place 
or fortune. 

From the Euphrates, Abraham, not without divine guid- 
ance, wanders towards the west. The desert opposes no 
invincible barrier to his progress. He comes to the Jordan, 
crosses the river, and peoples the fair southern regions of 
Palestine. This land had been already occupied, and to a 
large extent inliabited. Mountains of moderate altitude, 
but rocky and barren, were separated by many well-watered 
vales favourable to cultivation. Towns, villages, and soli- 
tary settlements lay scattered over the plain and on the 
slopes of the great valley, the waters of which collected in 
the Jordan. Thus was the land inhabited, thus tilled ; but 
the world was still large enough, and the men were not 
so provident, necessitous, and active, as at once to possess 
themselves of the whole adjacent country. Between their 
possessions extended large tracts of land in which graz- 
ing herds could move freely to and fro. It is here that 
Abraham resides ; his brother Lot is near him ; but they 
cannot long remain in places such as these were. The very 
condition of the land, the population of which is now increas- 
ing, now decreasing, and the productions of which do not 
vary to meet the needs of the people, unexpectedly produces 
a famine, and the new-comer suffers alike with the native, 
whose means of support he has diminished incidentally 
by his presence. The two Chaldean brothers move onward 
to Egypt, and thus is marked out the theatre in which, 
for some thousands of years, the most important events 
of the world were to be enacted. From the Tigris to 
the Euphrates, from the Euphrates to the Nile, we see 
the earth peopled; and this space also is traversed by a 
noted man, beloved of God and already dear to us, moving 
to and fro with flocks and goods, and, in a short time, 



1762-65] THE OLD TESTAMENT II3 

abundantly increasing them. The brothers return; but, 
made wise by the distress they have endured, they deter- 
mine to part. Both, indeed, tarry in Southern Canaan ; but 
while Abraham remains at Hebron, by the wood of 
Mamre, Lot departs for the valley of Siddim, which can 
and must seem to us a second Paradise — if we venture to 
imagine the Jordan with a subterranean outlet, so that in 
place of the present Dead Sea we have dry ground — a con- 
jecture all the more probable from the fact that the inhabi- 
tants and their neighbours were notorious for effeminacy 
and wickedness, which leads us to infer that they led an 
easy and luxurious life. Lot lives among them, but apart. 

But in Hebron and the wood of Mamre we see the 
significant spot where the Lord speaks with Abraham, 
and promises him all the land as far as his eye can reach 
in four directions. From these quiet districts, from these 
shepherd tribes, who are allowed to associate with celestials, 
entertain them as guests, and hold converse with them, we 
are compelled to turn our glance once more towards the 
East, and to think of the condition of the neighbouring 
countries, which on the whole, perhaps, resembled that of 
Canaan. 

Families hold together : they unite, and the mode of life 
of the tribes is determined by the locality which they have 
appropriated or appropriate. On the mountains which send 
down their waters to the Tigris, we find warlike populations, 
who even thus early foreshadow those world-conquerors and 
world-rulers — and in a campaign, prodigious for those times, 
give us a prelude of future achievements. Chedorlaomer, 
king of Elam, already exerts a mighty influence over his 
allies. He reigns a long while ; for, twelve years before 
Abraham's arrival in Canaan, he had made all the people 
tributary to him as far as the Jordan. They had revolted at 
last, and the allies equipped themselves for war. We come 
upon them unexpectedly, probably on the same route by 
which Abraham had reached Canaan. The people on the 
left and lower side of the Jordan were subdued. Chedor- 
laomer directs his march southwards towards the people of 
the Desert, then wending north, he smites the Amalekites, 
and when he has overcome the Amorites, he reaches 
Canaan, falls upon the kings of the vale of Siddim, smites 

VOL. I. I 



114 POETRY AND TRUTH [part i. book iv 

and scatters them, and marches with great spoilup the 
Jordan, in order to extend his conquests as far as Lebanon. 

Among the captives, despoiled and dragged away with 
their property, is Lot, who shares the fate of the country in 
which he lives a guest. Abraham hears of it, and now we 
behold the patriarch as warrior and hero. He gathers to- 
gether his servants, divides them into troops, falls upon the 
cumbersome baggage train ; throws into confusion the victors, 
who have no suspicion of another enemy in the rear, and 
brings back his brother and his goods, with much spoil 
taken from the conquered kings. Abraham, by this brief 
campaign, acquires possession, as it were, of the whole land. 
To the inhabitants he appears a protector, a saviour, and, 
by his disinterestedness, a king. Gratefully the kings of 
the valley receive him ; — Melchisedek, the king and priest, 
with blessings. 

Now the prophecies of an unending posterity are re- 
newed, nay, they assume a wider and wider scope. From the 
waters of the Euphrates to the River of Egypt all the lands 
are promised him ; but yet the prospect of immediate heirs 
is still doubtful. He is eighty years of age, and has no son. 
Sarai, less trustful of the heavenly powers than he, becomes 
impatient ; she desires, after the oriental fashion, to have a 
descendant by her maid. But no sooner is Hagar given up 
to the master of the house, no sooner is there hope of a 
son, than dissension breaks out in the household. The 
wife treats her own dependant ill enough, and Hagar flees 
to seek a happier lot among other tribes. At a sign from 
on high she returns, and Ishmael is born. 

Abraham is now ninety-nine years old, and still promises 
of a numerous posterity are repeated, so that in the end 
both husband and wife regard them as ridiculous. And yet 
at last Sarai conceives and brings forth a son, to whom the 
name of Isaac is given. 

History, for the most part, rests upon the legitimate 
propagation of the human race. The most momentous 
historical events have to be traced back to the privacy of 
family life : and thus it is that the marriages of the patriarchs 
give rise to peculiar reflections. It is as if the Divinity, who 
deigned to guide the destiny of mankind, wished here to 
show us, as it were, types of the various forms of marital 



1762-65] NATURAL AND REVEALED RELIGION 115 

relationships. Abraham, so long united in childless marriage 
to a beautiful woman whom many coveted, finds himself, in 
his hundredth year, the husband of two women, the father of 
two sons ; and at this moment his domestic peace is disturbed. 
Two women and two sons by different mothers cannot 
possibly agree. The party less favoured by law, usage, and 
opinion, must yield. Abraham must sacrifice his attach- 
ment to Hagar and Ishmael. Both are dismissed, and 
Hagar is now compelled, against her will, to traverse a road 
which she had previously taken in voluntary flight, it would 
at first seem to her own destruction and that of her child ; 
but the angel of the Lord, who had before turned her back, 
rescues her once again, that Ishmael also may become a 
great people, and that the most improbable of all promises 
may be fulfilled even beyond its first scope. 

Two parents in advanced years, and one son of their old 
age — here, at last, domestic peace and earthly happiness 
might be looked for. But not so. Heaven has still the 
heaviest trial in store for the patriarch. But of this we 
cannot speak without premising several reflections. 

If a natural universal religion was to arise, and from it a 
special revealed religion was to be developed, the countries 
in which our imagination has hitherto lingered, the mode of 
life, the race of men, were best fitted for the purpose. At 
least, nowhere else in the whole world do we find a setting 
so favourable and auspicious. Even natural religion, if we 
ascribe to it a prior origin in the human mind, presupposes 
great refinement of feeling ; for it is based upon the con- 
viction of an universal providence, which controls the order 
of the world as a whole. A particular religion, revealed by 
Heaven to this or that people, carries with it the belief in a 
special providence which the Divine Being vouchsafes to 
certain favoured men, families, races, and peoples. It is 
difficult for man to evolve this faith out of his inner con- 
sciousness. . It requires tradition, custom, a guarantee 
dating from ancient times. 

Beautiful it is, therefore, to find Israelitish tradition 
representing the very first men who trusted in this special 
providence as heroes of faith, acknowledging their de- 
pendence on that Supreme Being, whose commands they 
follow with an obedience as blind as is the faith 



Il6 POETRY AND TRUTH [part i. book iv 

unquestioning with which they await the tardy fulfilment 
of His promises. 

As a particular revealed religion is based upon the con- 
ception that one man can be more favoured by Heaven 
than another, in like manner it originates primarily in the 
differentiation of social conditions. The first men appeared 
closely allied; but their occupations soon divided them. 
The hunter was the freest of all ; from him was developed 
the warrior and the ruler. Those who tilled the field bound 
themselves to the soil, erected dwellings and barns to 
preserve the fruits of their toil, and had cause to think well 
of themselves, in that their manner of life promised per- 
manence and security. The herdsman's lot, on the other 
hand, knew no limitations of space or wealth. The 
increase of herds proceeded without end, and the space 
necessary to support them widened out on all sides. These 
three classes seem from the very first to have regarded 
each other with dislike and contempt; and as the herds- 
man was an abomination to the townsman, once more 
a separation took place from the latter. The hunters 
vanish from our sight among the hills, and re-appear only 
as conquerors. 

The patriarchs belonged to the shepherd class. Their 
manner of life upon the ocean of desert and pasture-land 
gave breadth and freedom to their minds; the vault of 
heaven, under which they dwelt, with all its nightly stars, 
elevated their feelings; and they, more than the active, 
skilful huntsman, more than the secure, careful, domesti- 
cated husbandman, had need of the immovable faith that a 
God walked beside them, visited them, cared for them, 
guided and saved them. 

Another reflection is forced upon us before resuming 
our narrative. Humane, beautiful, and cheering as the 
religion of the patriarchs appears, yet traits of barbarity and 
cruelty run through it, out of which man may emerge, or 
into which he may sink back again. 

It is natural that hatred should be appeased by blood, 
by the death of the conquered enemy ; it is easy to under- 
stand how a peace might be concluded upon the battle-field 
among the ranks of the slain ; and hence followed the belief 
that validity was given to a contract by slaughtered animals. 



1762-65] THE OLD TESTAMENT 11/ 

Nor is the notion surprising that by slaughter men could 
summon, propitiate, and win the favour of the gods, whom 
they always looked upon as partisans, whether opponents or 
allies. But if we confine our attention to the sacrifices, and 
consider the way in which they were offered in those primitive 
times, we find a singular, and, to our notions, most repugnant 
custom, derived probably from the usages of war, viz., that 
the sacrificed animals of every kind, and however numerous, 
after being hewn in two halves, had to be laid out on two 
sides, and those who wished to make a covenant with the 
Deity took up their stand in the space between them. 

Yet another horrible trait of strange and ominous signifi- 
cance meets us in that fair world, namely, the inevitable 
death of everything consecrated or devoted. This also was 
probably an usage of war transferred to peace. The 
inhabitants of a city which defends itself by force are 
threatened with such a vow ; it is taken by storm or other- 
wise. Nothing is left alive — ^the men, under no circum- 
stances, and often women, children, and even cattle, share 
the same fate. Such sacrifices are rashly and superstitiously 
promised to the gods more or less definitely, and those 
whom the votary would willingly spare, even his nearest of 
kin, his own children, may thus have to die as expiatory 
victims of such a delusion. 

Such a savage cult could not have originated in the 
gentle and truly patriarchal character of Abraham ; but the 
Godhead,* which, in order to tempt us, seems sometimes to 
show those qualities which man is inclined to attribute to it, 
imposes a monstrous task upon him. He must offer up his 
son as a pledge of the new covenant, and, if common 
usage is to be observed, must not only kill and burn him, 
but cut him in two, and await between the smoking entrails 
a new promise from the benignant Deity. Blindly, and 
without hesitation, Abraham prepares to execute the com- 
mand j Heaven is satisfied with his willingness. Abraham's 
probation is now at an end, for no greater trials could be 
inflicted. But Sarai dies, and this gives Abraham an 
opportunity for taking possession of the land of Canaan 

♦ It should be observed that in this Biblical narrative, when we have 
used the expressions "Deity," "Godhead," or "Divinity," Goethe 
generally has "die Gotter," or "the Gods." — Trans, 



Il8 POETRY AND TRUTH [part i. book iv 

symbolically. He requires a grave^ and for the first time he 
looks about for a possession in this earth. He had perhaps 
before this discovered a two-fold cave by the grove of 
Mamre. This cave he purchases, together with the adjacent 
field, and the legal form which he observes on the occasion 
shows how important this possession is to him. Indeed it 
was more so, perhaps, than he himself supposed ; for there 
he, his sons and his grandsons, were to rest, and on it was 
actually based the proximate title to the whole land, and 
from its acquisition dates the constant tendency of his 
posterity to gather there. 

Frpm this time forth the manifold incidents of family life 
occur in varied succession. Abraham still keeps strictly 
apart from the inhabitants, and though Ishmael, the son of 
an Egyptian woman, lias married a daughter of that land, it 
behoves Isaac to wed a kinswoman, his equal by birth. 

Abraham despatches his servant to Mesopotamia, to the 
relatives whom he had left behind there. The prudent- 
Eleazar arrives unknown, and, in order to take home the 
right bride, tests the obligingness of the girls at the well. 
He asks to drink himself, and Rebecca, unasked, waters his 
camels also. He gives her presents, he demands her in 
marriage, and his suit is not rejected. He conducts her to 
the home of his lord, and she is wedded to Isaac. In this 
case, too, issue has to be long waited for. Rebecca is not 
blessed until after some years of probation, and the same 
discord, which in Abraham's double marriage arose through 
two mothers, here proceeds from one. Two boys of 
opposite characters wrestle while yet in their mother's womb. 
They are brought into the world, the elder lively and 
vigorous, the younger gentle and prudent. The former 
becomes the father's, the latter the mother's favourite. The 
strife for precedence, which begins even at birth, is con- 
tinued. Esau is quiet and indifferent as to the birthright 
which fate has given him; Jacob never forgets that his 
brother forced him back. Watching every opportunity of 
gaining the desirable privilege, he buys the birthright of 
his brother, and defrauds him of their father's blessing. 
Esau is indignant, and vows death to his brother; Jacob 
flees to seek his fortune in the land of his forefathers. 

Now, for the first time, in so noble a family appears a 



1762-65] The old testament 119 

member who has no scruple in attaining by prudence and 
cunning the advantages denied him by nature and circum- 
stances. It has often enough been the subject of comment, 
that the Sacred Scriptures by no means intended to set these 
patriarchs and other divinely- favoured men before us as 
models of virtue. They, too, are persons of the most 
varied characters, with many defects and failings. But there 
is one leading trait, in which none of these men after God's 
own heart can be wanting — that is, a steadfast faith that 
God takes special care of them and theirs. 

Universal natural religion, properly speaking, requires 
no faith; for no one can escape the conviction that a 
mighty creative Being who orders and governs, is, as it 
were, concealed behind nature in order to make himself 
comprehensible to us. Nay, if for a moment we let drop this 
thread which is our guide through life, we may recover it at 
any moment and at any point. But it is different with a 
special religion, which proclaims to us that this Great Being 
definitely and particularly takes charge of one individual, one 
family, one people, one country. This religion is founded 
on faith, which must be inviolable if it is not to be instantly 
and absolutely destroyed. Every doubt with respect to such 
a religion is fatal to it. One may return to conviction, but 
not to faith. Hence the never-ending probations, the delay 
in the fulfilment of promises, so often repeated, whereby 
the capacity for faith in those ancestors is set in the 
clearest light. 

It is in this faith also that Jacob enters upon his ex- 
pedition, and if his craft and deceit do not inspire our 
affections, they are won by his lasting and unchanging love 
for Rachel, whom he himself woos without premeditation, 
as Eleazar had courted Rebecca for his father. In him the 
promise of a countless people was first to be fully realized ; 
he was to see many sons around him, but both they and 
their mothers were to cause him much sorrow of heart. 

Seven years he serves for his beloved, without impatience 
and without wavering. His father-in-law, his equal in craft, 
and, like him, disposed to consider every means to an end 
legitimate, deceives him, and so avenges the wrong he had 
done to his brother. Jacob finds in his arms a wife whom 
he does not love. Laban, indeed, endeavours to appease 



I20 POETRY AND TRUTH [part i. book iv 

him by soon afterwards giving him his beloved also, but 
on the condition of seven years further service, and thus 
vexation follows upon vexation. The wife he does not love 
is fruitful, the one he loves bears no children. The latter, 
like Sarai, desires to become a mother through her hand- 
maiden j the former grudges her even this advantage. She 
also presents her husband with a maid; but the good 
patriarch is now the most troubled man in the world — he 
has four wives, children by three, and none from her he 
loves. Finally she also is blessed, and Joseph comes into 
the world, the late fruit of the most passionate attachment. 
Jacob's fourteen years of service are over, but Laban is un- 
willing to part with him, his chief and most trusty servant. 
They enter into a new compact, and apportion the flocks 
between them. Laban retains the white ones as most 
numerous, Jacob has to put up with the spotted ones^ the 
mere refuse as it were. But he is able here, too, to secure his 
own advantage ; and in the same way as he had procured 
the birthright by a paltry mess of pottage and his father's 
blessing by a disguise, he now manages by art and resource- 
fulness to appropriate to himself the best and .largest part of 
the herds ; and in this respect also he becomes a worthy 
progenitor of the people of Israel, and a model for his 
descendants. Laban and his household perceive the result, 
if not the stratagem. Vexation ensues ; Jacob flees with 
his family and all his goods, and, partly by good fortune, 
partly by cunning, escapes the pursuit of Laban. Rachel 
is now about to present him with another son, but dies 
in childbirth : Benjamin, the child of sorrow, survives her ; 
but the aged father is to experience a still greater sorrow 
in the apparent loss of his son Joseph. 



Perhaps someone may ask why I have chosen this 
opportunity to elaborately re-tell these well-known stories 
which have been repeated and explained so many times. 
Let the inquirer be satisfied with the answer that in no other 
way could I make clear how, in spite of my varied life and 
fragmentary studies, I yet succeeded in concentrating my 
mind and feelings on one point with tranquilizing effect ; in 
no other way could I describe the peace that enveloped 
me^ however tumultuous and incomprehensible the outer 



1762.65I HISTORY OF JOSEPH 121 

world. When my restless imagination, to which my fairy- 
tale bears witness, strayed from one field to another, when 
the medley of fable and history, mythology and religion, 
threatened to bewilder me, I loved to take refuge in those 
oriental regions, and become absorbed in the first Books of 
Moses, and there, amid the scattered shepherd-tribes, I dwelt 
in the greatest solitude and yet with my greatest friends. 

These family scenes, before they become merged in a 
history of the Jewish nation, finally bring before us a figure 
of peculiar attractiveness for the hopes and fancies of the 
young : Joseph, the child of the most passionate wedded 
love. He seems to us tranquil and clear-sighted, and predicts 
for himself the advantages which are to elevate him above 
his family. Cast into misfortune by his brothers, he remains 
steadfast and upright in slavery, resists the most dangerous 
temptations, rescues himself by prophecy, and is elevated 
according to his deserts to high honours. He shows himself 
serviceable and useful, first to a great kingdom, then to his 
own kindred. He is like his ancestor Abraham in dignity 
and magnanimity, like his grandfather Isaac in quietness 
and resignation. He exercises on a large scale the talent for 
traflSc inherited from his father. It is no longer flocks which 
are gained for a father-in-law, or for himself, but nations, 
with all their possessions, which he knows how to purchase 
for a king. Very charming is this story in its naturalness, 
only it appears too short, and one feels impelled to elaborate 
it in detail. 

Such an amplified account of characters and events of 
which the Biblical narrative furnished the outline was 
already familiar to the Germans. The personages of both 
the Old and New Testaments had lived again in Klop- 
stock's vivid and sympathetic portraiture, very attractive 
to the boy as well as to many of his contemporaries. Of 
Bodmer's efforts in this line he knew little or nothing; 
but Daniel in the Lions' Den, by Moser, made a great 
impression on his youthful mind. In that work an up- 
right courtier and man of business, after passing through 
manifold tribulations, arrives at high honours, and the piety 
which threatens to be his undoing proves early and late 
his shield and buckler, I had long cherished a wish to work 
out the history of Joseph, but I could not come to any 



122 POETRY AND TRUTH [part i. book iv 

satisfactory conclusion with regard to the form, particularly 
as I was not conversant with any kind of versification 
adapted to such a work. But I now thought a treatment 
of it in prose very suitable, and devoted all my energies 
to its execution. I endeavoured to differentiate and elabo- 
rate the characters, and by the interpolation of incidents 
and episodes, to make the old simple history a new 
and independent work. I did not consider, what, indeed, 
youth cannot consider, the necessity for some underlying 
meaning, and that this could only be obtained by the 
teaching of experience. Suffice it to say, that I pictured 
all the incidents down to the minutest details, and narrated 
them carefully to myself in order. 

What greatly Ughtened this labour was a circumstance 
which threatened to render this work, and my literary 
efforts in general, exceedingly voluminous. A young man 
of varied capacities, but who had become imbecile from 
over-exertion and self-absorption, resided as a ward in 
my father's house, lived quietly with the family, and if 
allowed to go on in his usual way, was contented and 
pleasant. He had taken very careful lecture-notes when at 
the university, and had acquired a rapid legible hand. His 
favourite occupation was writing, and he was pleased when 
anything was given him to copy, but still more when writing 
to dictation, because he then felt carried back to his happy 
student days. To my father, who was not a rapid writer, 
and whose German hand was small and tremulous, this 
was a great boon, and he was consequently accustomed, 
in the conduct of his own and other business, to dictate 
for some hours a day to this young man. In the intervals 
I found it equally convenient to see all that passed through 
my head put to paper by the hand of another, and my 
natural gift for invention and imitation grew with the facility 
with which my thoughts were set down and preserved. 

As yet I had not undertaken any work so large as my 
Biblical prose-epic. It happened to be a fairly peaceful 
time, and nothing recalled my imagination from Palestine 
and Egypt. Thus my manuscript swelled from day to day, 
for as 1 recited the poem to myself, whole sections of it 
were transferred to paper ; and only a few pages from time 
to time needed to be rewritten. 



1762-65] ''MISCELLANEOUS POEMS " 12^ 

When the work was done — for to my own astonishment 
it really was completed — I reflected that various poems 
written in earlier years were still in existence, which even 
now did not appear to me altogether worthless, and, if 
copied in the same size with Joseph, would make a very 
neat quarto, to which the title " Miscellaneous Poems " 
might be given. I was pleased with the idea, as it gave 
me an opportunity of quietly imitating well-known and 
celebrated authors. I had composed a good number of 
so-called Anacreontic poems, which, on account of the 
convenience of the metre and the lightness of the subject, 
flowed easily from my pen. But these I could not well 
make use of here, as they were not in rhyme, and my desire 
before all things was to give my father pleasure. All the 
more appropriate, however, appeared the spiritual odes, 
which I had worked at very zealously in imitation of the 
Last Judgment of Elias Schlegel. One of these, written to 
celebrate the Descent of Christ into hell, received much 
applause from my parents and friends, and had the good 
fortune to please myself for some years afterwards. I 
studied diligently the so-called texts of the Sunday church- 
music, which were always to be had printed. They were, 
indeed, very feeble, and I could well believe that my verses, 
of which I had composed many in the prescribed manner, 
were equally worthy of being set to music and sung for the 
edification of the congregation. These and many like them 
I had for more than a year copied with my own hand, 
because this private exercise released me from the copies 
of the writing-master. Now, all were revised and put in 
proper order, and no great persuasion was needed to induce 
the young man who was so zealous with his pen to copy 
them neatly. I hastened with them to the bookbinder, and 
when shortly afterwards I handed the handsome volume 
to my father, he encouraged me with particular satisfaction 
to produce a similar quarto every year; and this he did 
with the greater conviction, seeing that the whole thing 
had been 5ie work of my so-called spare time. 

Another circumstance strengthened my inclination for 
these theological, or rather Biblical studies. The principal 
preacher, Johann Philipp Fresenius, had died. He was 
a mild man, of handsome, agreeable appearance, who was 



124 POETRY AND TRUTH [part i. book iv 

respected by his congregation and the whole city as an 
exemplary pastor and good preacher, but, because he had 
raised his voice against the Moravians, was not in the best 
odour with the pious separatists ; while, on the other hand, 
he had made himself famous, and almost a saint, with the 
multitude, by the conversion of a free-thinking general who 
had been mortally wounded. His successor, Plitt, a tall, 
handsome, dignified man, who brought from his Chair (he 
had been a Professor in Marburg) the gift of teaching rather 
than of edifying, immediately announced a sort of course 
in divinity to be given in a connected series of sermons. 
Even before this, as I had to go to church in any case, I had 
been accustomed to noting the headings of the discourse, 
and could now and then show off by a pretty complete 
recital of a sermon. But now that much was being said 
in the congregation, both for and against the new preacher, 
and many put no great faith in his announced didactic 
sermons, I resolved to take notes more carefully, and I 
was the more successful in doing so from having made 
less ambitious attempts in a seat very convenient for 
hearing, but concealed from sight. I was extremely atten- 
tive and on the alert ; the moment he said Amen I hastened 
from the church and spent a couple of hours in rapidly 
dictating what I had fixed in my memory and on paper, 
so that I could hand in the written sermon before dinner. 
My father was greatly elated by this success, and the good 
friend of the family, who had just come in to dinner, had 
to share his pleasure. Indeed, this friend was already well- 
disposed towards me, because I had learned so much of 
his Messiah by heart ; very often when I went to see him to 
fetch impressions of seals for my collection of coats-of^arms, 
I would recite long passages from it so that the tears stood 
in his eyes. 

The next Sunday I continued my task with equal zest, 
and as even the mere mechanical part of it interested 
me, I did not reflect upon what I wrote and preserved. 
During the first three months these efforts were continued 
in pretty much the same way, but at last, in my self- 
conceit, I fancied that I was not deriving any particular 
enlightenment as to the Bible, nor wider views as to 
dogma; the slight gratification to my vanity seemed too 



1762-65] PLITT*S SERMONS 1 25 

dearly purchased for me to pursue the matter with the 
same zeal. The sermons, once so many-leaved, grew more 
and more meagre; and before long I should have relin- 
quished this labour altogether, if my father, who was a 
great friend of completeness, had not induced . me by 
exhortations and promises to persevere till the last Sunday 
after Trinity — though at last scarcely more than the text, 
the subject, and the divisions were scribbled on little pieces 
of paper. 

My father was particularly pertinacious on this point of 
completeness. What was once undertaken must be finished, 
even if the inconvenience, tedium, vexation, nay, uselessness 
of the thing begun had in the mean time become manifest. 
It seemed as if he regarded completeness as the only end, 
and perseverance as the only virtue. If in our family circle, 
in the long winter evenings, we had begun to read a book 
aloud, we were compelled to go on to the end, though we 
were all driven to desperation by it, and my father himself 
was the first to yawn. I still remember one of these winters, 
when we had to work our way through Bower's History of 
the Popes, It was a terrible situation, since little or nothing 
connected with those ecclesiastical affairs has any interest 
for children and young people. Still, with all my inatten- 
tion and aversion, so much of that book remained in my 
mind that I was able, in after times, to use it as a basis for 
further reading. 

Amid all these heterogeneous occupations and tasks, 
which followed each other so rapidly that one could hardly 
reflect whether they were desirable and useful, my father 
never lost sight of his main object. He endeavoured to 
direct my memory and my powers of apprehension and 
synthesis to legal matters, and therefore gave me a small 
book by Hoppe, in the shape of a catechism, composed 
in accordance with the form and substance of the In- 
stitutiones, I soon learned questions and answers by heart, 
and could say the part of the catechist as well as of the 
catechumen; and, as in religious instruction at that time 
one of the chief exercises was to find passages in the Bible 
as readily as possible, so a similar acquaintance with the 
Corpus Juris was deemed necessary, and in this, too, I very 
soon became quite proficient. My father wished me to go 



126 POETRY AND TRUTH [part i. book iv 

further, and the little Struve was taken in hand ; but here 
progress was not so rapid. The form of the work was not 
such as to encourage beginners to go on by themselves, nor 
was my father's manner of teaching so genial as greatly to 
interest me. 

Not only the warlike state of the times during the last 
few years, but also civil life itself, and the perusal of history 
and romances, had made it only too clear to us that there 
were many cases in which the laws are silent and give no help 
to the individual, who must then extricate himself from his 
difficulty as he best may. We had now reached , the period 
when, according to the accepted routine, we were, m 
addition to other things, to learn to fence and ride, so that 
we should know how to defend ourselves upon occasion, and 
avoid cutting a ridiculous figure on horseback. As to the 
fencing, the exercise greatly pleased us ; for we had already, 
long ago, managed to get hold of broad-swords made of 
hazel-sticks, with basket-hilts neatly woven of osiers to 
protect the hands. Now we were allowed to have real 
steel blades, and the clashing we made with them was 
very lively. 

There were two fencing-masters in the city : a grave 
elderly German, who went to work in the severe and 
thorough style, and a Frenchman, who sought to gain the 
advantage by advancing and retreating, and by light rapid 
thrusts, which he always accompanied with exclamations. 
Opinions varied as to which method was the best. The 
little company with which I was to take lessons was 
entrusted to the Frenchman, and we speedily accustomed 
ourselves to move backwards and forwards, to lunge and 
recover, and at the same time to give vent to the proper 
exclamations. But several of our acquaintances had gone 
to the German teacher, and practised the exact reverse. 
These distinct modes of treating so important an exercise, 
the conviction of each that his master was the best, did in 
fact cause a division among the young people, who were 
of about the same age, and tlie fencing-schools were in 
imminent danger of occasioning serious battles, — for there 
was almost as much fighting with words as with swords ; 
and, in order to finally decide the matter, a trial of skill 
between the two fencing-masters was arranged, the result of 



1762-65] RIDING LESSONS 12/ 

which I need not describe in detail. The German stood 
in his position like a wall, w^atched his opportunity, and 
contrived to disarm his opponent over and over again with 
his cut and thrust. The latter maintained that this was not 
fair, and continued to keep the other fully occupied by his 
agility. He also dealt the German several blows, but if 
they had been in earnest, he would himself have been sent 
into the next world. 

In the end, nothing was decided and nothing gained, 
except that some went over to our countryman, of whom I 
was one. But I had already acquired too much from the 
first master; hence a considerable time elapsed before 
the new one could make me unlearn it, and he was 
altogether less satisfied with us renegades than with his 
original pupils. 

As to riding, I fared yet worse. I happened to be sent to 
the riding-school in the autumn, so that 1 began in the cool 
and damp season. The pedantic treatment of this noble 
art was highly repugnant to me. From first to last the 
whole talk was about sitting the horse well, and yet no one 
could say in what a good seat consisted, though all depended 
on that; for we rode to and fro on our horses without 
stirrups. Moreover, the instruction seemed devised solely to 
defraud the pupils and put them to shame. If one forgot to 
hook or unhook the curb-chain, or let his riding-whip fall, or, 
worse still, his hat, — every omission, every misfortune, had 
to be paid for in cash, and one was laughed at besides. 
This put me in the worst of humours, particularly as I found 
the school itself quite intolerable. The great nasty place, 
either wet or dusty, the cold, the mouldy smell — the whole 
thing was excessively distasteful to me. Moreover, the stable- 
master always gave the others the best and me the worst 
horses to ride, perhaps because they bribed him by breakfasts 
and other gifts, perhaps, too, by their skill ; furthermore, he 
kept me waiting, and, as it seemed, slighted me, and so I 
spent the most irksome hours in an employment that ought 
to have been the most delightful in the world. Indeed, 
the impression of that time and of those circumstances has 
remained with me so vividly, that although I afterwards 
became an ardent and daring rider, and for days and weeks 
together almost lived on horseback, I carefully shunned 



128 POETRY AND TRUTH [part u book iv 

covered riding-schools, passing at most but few moments in 
them. It is often the case that when the elements of a 
special art are to be taught us, this is done in a painful and 
unattractive manner. The conviction that such a method 
is both irksome and injudicious has given rise in later times 
to the educational maxim that the young must be taught 
everything in an easy, cheerful, and agreeable way : whence, 
however, other evils and disadvantages have arisen. 

With the approach of spring, more peaceful times ensued 
for us, and just as in earlier days I had endeavoured to 
obtain a view of the city, its ecclesiastical, civil, public and 
private structures, and, in particular, had taken delight in 
the antiquities still existing at that time, so at this later date 
I endeavoured, by reading Zersner*s Chronicle^ and other 
books and pamphlets relating to Frankfort in my father's 
possession, to picture to myself the persons of past times. 
This I seemed able to do successfully by fixing my attention 
upon the characteristic customs and distinguished individuals 
of past times. 

Among the ancient remains which from my childish 
days had fascinated me, was the skull of a state criminal, 
fixed on the bridge-tower, originally one of three or four, 
as the vacant iron spikes testified, which had survived 
all depredations of time and weather since 1616. When- 
ever one returned from Sachsenhausen to Frankfort, one 
had this tower before one, and the skull was directly in 
view. As a boy, I liked to listen to the history of these 
rebels — Fettmilch and his confederates — how they had 
become dissatisfied with the government of the city, had 
rebelled against it, set a mutiny on foot, plundered the 
Jews' quarter, but after fierce fighting were at last taken 
prisoners and condemned to death by the Emperor's com- 
missioners. At a later period I was anxious to learn 
more particulars, and to hear what sort of people they were. 
I discovered from an old contemporary book, ornamented 
with woodcuts, that though these men had been con- 
demned to death, yet many councillors had at the same 
time been deposed, because various disorders and abuses 
had been rampant; when I heard the particulars of what 
had taken place, I pitied the unfortunate persons who might 
be regarded as sacrifices to a future better constitution. 



1762-65] INTEREST IN THE JEWS 1 29 

For from that time dates the constitution, by which the 
patrician house of Limpurg, the house of Frauenstein, sprung 
from an association, besides lawyers, tradespeople, and 
artisans, took part in a form of government, which, when com- 
pleted by a complicated system of balloting on the Venetian 
plan and restricted by the civic corporations, was intended 
to do right, while retaining very little liberty to do wrong. 

Among the strange things which excited the misgivings 
of the boy, and even of the youth, was especially the state 
of the Jewish quarter of the city {Judenstadt\ properly 
called the Jiidengasse (Jew-street), as it consisted of little 
more than a single street, which in early times may be said 
to have been as it were imprisoned between the walls and 
trenches of the town. The limited area, the filth, the crowd, 
the accent of an unpleasing language — ^all combined to pro- 
duce a most disagreeable impression, even if one merely 
looked in as one passed the gate. It was long before I 
ventured in alone, and I was not anxious to repeat the visit, 
when I had once escaped the importunities of so many men, 
unwearied in demanding or offering to chaffer with me. 
Then, too, the old legends of the cruelty of the Jews towards 
Christian children, which we had seen hideously illustrated 
in Gottfrie(£s Chronicle^ hovered grimly before my young 
mind. And although they were thought better of in modern 
times, there was the large caricature holding them up to 
ridicule, still fairly distinct, on an arched wall under the 
bridge tower, to bear witness against them ; for it was the 
outcome, not of private ill-will, but of public initiative. 

However, they still remained the chosen people of God, 
and, whatever their intervening history, went about, a living 
memorial of the most ancient times. Besides, they too were 
men, active and obliging, and even the tenacity with which 
they climg to their peculiar customs called for respect. The 
girls, moreover, were pretty, and were far from displeased 
when a Christian lad, meeting them on the sabbath in the 
Fischerfeld, showed himself kindly and attentive. I was 
consequently extremely curious to become acquainted with 
their ceremonies. I did not rest satisfied until I had 
frequently visited their synagogue, had assisted at a circum- 
cision and a wedding, and had formed a notion of the Feast 
of Tabernacles. Everywhere I was well received, pleasantly 

VOL. I. K 



I30 POETRY AND TRUTH [part i. book iv 

entertained, and invited to come again; for I had been 
accompanied or introduced by persons of influence. 

Thus, as a young resident in a large city, I was hurried 
from one interest to another, and horrible scenes in 
their turn broke in upon the quiet and security of town life. 
Sometimes a fire in the vicinity or at a distance aroused us 
from our domestic peace, sometimes the discovery of a great 
crime, with its investigation and punishment, set the whole 
city in a commotion for weeks together. We had been 
witnesses of various executions ; and it is worth mentioning 
that once I was present at the burning of a book. The 
publication was a French comic romance, which left the 
state untouched, it is true, but, on the other hand, attacked 
religion and morality. There was really something dreadful 
in seeing punishment inflicted on a lifeless thing. The 
packages burst asunder in the fire, and were pulled apart 
by furnace-rakes, that the flames might get greater hold on 
them. It was not long before the kindled sheets were flying 
about in the air, and the crowd caught at them with eager- 
ness. Nor could we rest until we had secured a copy, and 
many others managed likewise to procure the forbidden 
pleasure. Indeed, if the author had aimed at notoriety, he 
could not have found a better way of ensuring it. 

. But there were also more peaceful occasions which took 
me about in every part of the city. My father had early 
accustomed me to do small commissions for him. He 
charged me particularly to urge on the artisans whom he 
employed, as they commonly kept him waiting longer than 
was right, because he was very particular about the work, 
and used in the end to pay promptly, but at a lower price. 
In this way, I gained access to nearly all the workshops; 
and as it was natural to me to sympathize with the con- 
dition of others, to realize each different kind of human 
existence, and to delight in sharing it, these commissions 
were the occasion of many most delightful hours, and I 
learned to know the habits of one and all, and what joys 
and sorrows, what advantages and hardships, were bound 
up with the inevitable conditions of this or that mode of 
life. I was thus brought nearer to the class of workers 
which forms a link between the lower and upper classes. 
For on the one side stand those whose work lies with 



1762-65] THE JEWELLER LAUTENSACK I3I 

the simple and raw products, and on the other those who 
desire to enjoy what has already been manufactured ; the 
artisan, with his intelligence and skill, is the intermediary 
who enables the other two to receive something from each 
other, and each to gratify his wishes in his own way. The 
family life of every handicraftsman, which derived form and 
colour from the craft pursued, was likewise an object of my 
quiet observation ; and thus was developed and strengthened 
in me a feeling of the equality, if not of all men, yet of all 
human conditions, — existence in itself seeming to me the 
main point, and all the rest indifferent and accidental. 

Though my father was not fond of spending money on 
anything which afforded only a momentary enjoyment — I 
can scarcely remember that we ever drove out together and 
spent anything in a place of amusement — he w^as, on the 
other hand, not niggardly in purchasing such things as pre- 
sented a good external appearance besides possessing intrinsic 
worth. No one could look forward to peace more than he, 
although he had not suffered the slightest inconvenience 
during the last period of the war. Such being his views, he 
had promised my mother a gold snuff-box, set with diamonds, 
which she was to receive as soon as peace should be 
publicly declared. In expectation of the happy event, this 
present bad been put in hand some years ago. The box, 
which was tolerably large, had been executed in Hanau, for 
my father was on good terms with the gold-workers there, as 
well as with the managers of the silk-nursery. Many designs 
were made for it ; the cover was adorned by a basket of 
flowers, over which hovered a dove with the olive-branch. 
A vacant space was left for the jewels, which were to be set 
partly in the dove and partly in the flowers, partly too on 
the spot where the box is usually opened. The jeweller to 
whom the execution and the requisite stones were entrusted 
was named Lautensack, and was a skilful, cheery man, who, 
like many clever artists, seldom did what was necessary, but 
usually carried out his fancies, which gave him pleasure. 
The jewels were very soon set, in the shape in which they 
were to be put upon the box, on some black wax, and 
looked very well; but there they stuck, and it was im- 
possible to get them transferred to the gold. At the outset, 
my father let the matter rest 5 but as the hope of peace grew 



132 POETRY AND TRUTH [part i. book iv 

Stronger^ and finally when the details of the conditions — in 
particular the elevation of the Archduke Joseph to the 
Roman throne — were supposed to be generally known, he 
grew more and more impatient, and I had to go several 
times a week, nay, at last, almost daily, to visit the dilatory 
artist. Thanks to my constant worrying and exhortation, 
the work went on, though slowly enough ; for as it was of 
the kind which can be taken in hand or laid aside at will, 
something of greater importance was always cropping up for 
the sake of which it was set aside. 

The chief cause of this conduct, however, was a task 
which the artist had undertaken on his own account. Every- 
body knew that the Emperor Francis had a particular 
affection for jewels, and especially for coloured stones. 
Lautensack had expended a considerable sum, and as it 
afterwards proved, more than he could afford, on such gems, 
out of which he had begun to shape a nosegay, in which 
every stone was to be arranged so as to show off its shape 
and colour to best advantage, and the whole was to form a 
work of art worthy to take its place in the jewel-room of an 
emperor. He had, in his desultiary way, worked at it for 
many years, and now hastened to complete it and put it 
together finally, since, when the looked-for peace should 
be declared, the Emperor was expected to come to Frankfort 
for the coronation of his son. He cleverly took advantage 
of my interest in such matters to divert my attention from my 
message of exhortation, and to lure me from my purpose. 
He strove to impart a knowledge of these stones to me, and 
pointed out to me their properties and value, so that in the 
end I knew his whole bouquet by heart, and could have 
shown off its beauties to a customer quite as well as he. I 
can remember it even now, and though I may have since seen 
more costly specimens of magnificence in this sort, I have 
never seen a more charming one. He possessed, besides, a 
pretty collection of engravings, and other works of art, about 
which he liked to talk, and I passed many hours with him, not 
without profit. Finally, when the Congress of Hubertsburg 
was finally fixed, he made a special effort for my sake ; and 
the dove and flowers actually reached my mother's hands on 
the festival in celebration of peace. 

I also received many similar commissions, urging on 



1762-65] THE ARTIST JUNCKER 1 33 

painters to finish pictures which had been ordered. My 
father had a rooted conviction — and few men were without 
it — that a picture painted on wood was greatly preferable to 
one that was merely put on canvas. It was therefore 
matter of great care with him to possess good oak boards 
of every shape, because he well knew that on this im- 
portant point the more careless artists trusted to the 
joiners. The oldest planks were hunted up, the joiners were 
required to use tly greatest accuracy in gluing, planing, and 
preparing them, and they were then kept for years in an 
upper room, where they could be properly seasoned. A. 
valuable board of this kind was entrusted to the painter 
JuNCKER, who was to represent on it an ornamental flower- 
pot, with the choicest flowers drawn after nature in his 
artistic and elegant manner. It was just spring-time, and 
I did not fail to take him several times a week the most 
beautiful flowers that fell in my way, which he immediately 
put in, and by degrees composed the whole out of these 
elements with the utmost industry and fidelity. On one 
occasion I had caught a mouse, which I took to him, and 
he was taken with the desire to copy so pretty a little 
creature, and actually represented it most accurately, gnaw- 
ing an ear of corn at the foot of the flower-pot. Many such 
inoffensive natural objects, such as butterflies and beetles, 
were brought to him to be painted, so that finally a highly 
valuable picture resulted, excellent in its imitation and 
execution. 

Hence I was not a little astonished when one day, just 
as the work was about to be sent home, the good man 
formally declared that the picture no longer pleased him, — 
for, though it had turned out quite well in its details, it was 
not well composed as a whole, because it had been pro- 
duced in this gradual manner ; and he had made a mistake 
at the outset in not devising a general plan, at least for 
light and shade as well as colour, according to which the 
single flowers might have been arranged. With me he 
made a thorough examination of the picture, which had 
grown under my eyes during the last six months and in 
many respects pleased me, and in the end entirely con- 
vinced me, to my great regret. Even the copy of the mouse 
he regarded as an error ; for many persons, he said, have a 



134 POETRY AND TRUTH [part i. book iv 

horror of such animals, and they should not be introduced 
where the object is to excite pleasure. As commonly 
happens with those who are cured of a prejudice, and 
imagine themselves cleverer than they were before, I now 
had a thorough contempt for this work of art and entirely 
agreed with the artist when he caused another panel of the 
same size to be prepared, on which, in accordance with his 
taste, he painted a better-shaped vessel and a more artistic- 
ally arranged nosegay, and also selected and distributed 
the little living accessories gracefully and pleasingly. This 
panel, too, he painted with the greatest care, either copy- 
ing the former picture, or painting from a memory which 
long and assiduous practice had made very serviceable. 
Both paintings were now ready, and we were thoroughly 
delighted with the last, which was certainly the more artistic 
and striking of the two. My father was surprised with two 
pictures instead of one, and to him the choice was left. He 
approved of our opinion and of the reasons for it, and 
especially of the good-will and energy displayed; but, 
after considering both pictures some days, he decided in 
favour of the first, without saying much about the motives 
of his choice. The artist, in vexation, took back his second 
well-intentioned picture, and could not restrain the remark 
that the good oaken panel on which the first was painted 
had certainly influenced my father's decision. 

Now that I am once more on the topic of painting, my 
memory recalls a large establishment, where I passed much 
time, because both it and its managers especially attracted 
me. It was the great oil-cloth factory which the painter 
NoTHNAGEL had erected ; a skilful artist, but by his talents 
and his views disposed more to manufacture than to art. 
In a very large expanse of courts and gardens all kinds of 
oil-cloths were made, from the coarsest, which are covered 
by means of a trowel and used for baggage-wagons and 
similar purposes, on through floor-cloths, printed with 
figures, to the finer and the superfine kinds, on which some- 
times flowers — Chinese, fanciful or natural — sometimes 
figures, sometimes landscapes, were represented by the 
brushes of expert workmen. This multiplicity, to which 
there was no end, deUghted me extremely. The varied 
occupations of so many men, from the lowest unskilled labour 



1762-65J OIL-CLOTH FACTORY 1 35 

to work undoubtedly possessing artistic value, were to me 
extremely attractive. I made the acquaintance of this 
multitude of men, young and old, working in several suc- 
cessive rooms, and occasionally lent a hand myself. The 
sale of these commodities was extraordinarily brisk. Any 
one building or furnishing a house at that time, wished to 
do so for life, and this oil-cloth carpeting was certainly 
indestructible. Nothnagel had enough to do in directing 
the whole, and sat in his office surrounded by factors and 
clerks. His leisure time he devoted to his collection of 
works of art, consisting chiefly of engravings, with which, 
as well as with the oil-paintings in his possession, he 
occasionally did business. At the same time he had ac- 
quired a taste for etching; he etched a variety of plates, 
and prosecuted this branch of art even in his latest 
years. 

As his dwelling lay near the Eschenheim Gate, my way, 
after visiting him, usually led me out of the city to some 
plots of land which my father owned beyond the gates. 
One was a large orchard, the ground of which was used as a 
meadow, and in which my father carefully attended to the 
planting of new trees and whatever else was needed for 
their preservation, though the ground itself was leased. 
Still more attention was required by a very well-kept 
vineyard beyond the Friedberg Gate, where between the 
rows of vines, rows of asparagus were planted and tended 
with great care. Scarcely a day passed in the fine season 
in which my father did not go there, and as on these 
occasions we were generally allowed to accompany him, 
we derived constant pleasure and delight from the earliest 
productions of spring to the last of autumn. We also 
made acquaintance with gardening operations, which, as 
they recurred year by year, eventually became perfectly 
familiar and easy to us. But after the various fruits of 
summer and autumn, at last came the vintage, the gayest 
and most beloved time of all : nay, there is no question that 
as wine gives a certain absence of constraint to the places 
and districts where it is grown and drunk, so these vintage- 
days, which terminate summer and usher in winter, diffuse 
a surprising cheerfulness. Joy and jubilation pervade a 
whole district. In the daytime, huzzas and shots are heard 



136 POETRY AND TRUTH [part i. book iv 

in all directions, and at night rockets and fire-balls, now 
here, now there, show that on all hands there are people 
still awake and lively, who would willingly prolong this 
festival to its utmost limit The subsequent processes at 
the wine-press and during the fermentation in the cellar, 
provided us with cheerful occupation at home, and in this 
way we generally found that winter had stolen upon us 
before we were aware of it. 

These rural possessions afforded us especial pleasure in 
the spring of 1763, as the 15th of February in that year 
was celebrated as a festival on account of the conclu- 
sion of the Hubertsburg peace, the happy results of which 
were to be felt throughout the remainder of my life. 
But before proceeding further, I feel bound to mention 
certain men who exerted an important influence on my 
youth. 

VoN Olenschlager was a member of the Frauenstein 
family, a Schoff^ and son-in-law of the above-mentioned 
Dr. Orth, a handsome, comfortable, sanguine man. In his 
burgomaster's holiday costume he could well have per- 
sonated the most important French prelate. After his 
academic course, he had occupied himself with diplomatic 
and state affairs, and had besides directed his travels to that 
end. He greatly esteemed me, and often conversed with me 
on the matters which chiefly interested him. I was with him 
when he wrote his Interpretation of the Golden Bull ; on 
which occasion he explained to me very clearly the value 
and dignity of that document.^ My imagination was carried 
back by it to those wild and troubled times, so that I 
could not help picturing what he related historically as 
though it were actually happening, by elaborating the 
characters and circumstances, or by dramatic action. In 
this he took great delight, and by his applause excited me 
to repetition. 

I had from childhood the singular habit of always 
learning by heart the beginnings of books and the divisions 
of a work, first of the five Books of Moses, and then of the 
yEneid and Ovid's Metamorphoses. I now did the same 
thing with the Goldefi Bull^ and often made my patron 
smile by suddenly exclaiming, quite gravely, " Omne regfium 
in se divisum desolabittir ; nam principes ejus facti sunt socii 



1762-65] FRANKFORT CHARACTERS: VON REINECK 1 37 

furum'^ * The learned man would shake his head, smiling, 
and say musingly, " What times those must have been, when 
the Emperor at a Grand Diet had such words thrown in; 
the face of his princes ! " 

There was a great charm in von Olenschlager's society. 
He received little company, but was very fond of intellectual 
amusement, and induced us young people to perform plays 
from time to time, for such exercises were deemed par- 
ticularly profitable for the young. We acted the Canute 
of Schl^el, in which the part of the king was assigned ta 
me, Estrithe to my sister, and Ulfo to the younger son of 
the family. We then ventured on the Britannicus,! for 
we were to practise the language as well as our dramatic 
talents. I was given the part of Nero, my sister that of 
Agrippina, and the younger son that of Britannicus. We 
were praised more than we deserved, and fancied that we had 
done it even better than the praise we received. Thus I was 
on the best terms with this family, and have been indebted 
to them for many pleasures, and also for aiding my 
development. 

Von Reineck was of an old patrician family, capable, 
honest, but stubborn, a spare, swarthy man, whom I never 
saw smile. The misfortune befell him that his only 
daughter eloped with a friend of the family. He prosecuted 
his son-in-law with the utmost rigour of the law; and 
because the law-courts, with their formality, were neither 
sufficiently rapid nor drastic in gratifying his desire for 
vengeance, he fell out with them ; and there ensued quarrel 
upon quarrel, lawsuit upon lawsuit. He withdrew com- 
pletely into his own house and an adjacent garden, lived in 
a spacious but gloomy lower-room, into which for many 
years certainly no whitewasher's brush, and perhaps not 
even a maid-servant*s broom, had found its way. He was 
quite fond of me, and he had especially commended to me 
his younger son. He frequently invited his oldest friends, 
who knew how to humour him, his men of business and 
legal advisers to dine with him, and on these occasions 

♦ Eveiy kiDgdom divided against itself shall be brought to desola- 
tion ; for tne princes thereof have become the associates of robbers.— 
Trans. 

t Racine^s tragedy. — Trans » 



138 POETRY AND TRUTH [part i. book iv 

never omitted to ask me. There was good eating and still 
better drinking at his house. But a large stove, that 
smoked from many cracks, caused the greatest annoyance 
to his guests. One of the most intimate once ventured to 
remark upon it by asking the host whether he could put up 
with such an inconvenience all the winter. He answered, 
like a second Timon or Heautontimoroumenos : "Would 
to God this were the greatest evil which torments me ! " It 
was long before he allowed himself to be persuaded to see 
his daughter and grandchildren. The son-in-law was never 
allowed to come into bis presence again. 

On this excellent but unfortunate man my visits had a 
very favourable effect ; for while freely conversing with me, 
and in particular instructing me in the affairs of the world 
and the state, he seemed to feel himself relieved and cheered. 
Hence the few old friends who still gathered roimd him often 
made use of me, when they wished to soften his peevish 
humour and persuade him to any diversion. As a matter of 
fact, he now frequently drove out with us, and once again con- 
templated the country, on which he had not cast an eye for 
so many years. He called to mind the old landowners, and 
told stories of their characters and actions ; in so doing be 
showed himself always severe, but often cheerful and witty. 
We now made an attempt to induce him to mix with other 
people, which, however, nearly ended in disaster. 

About the same age, if not still older, was one Herr 
VON Malapert, a rich man, who possessed a very hand- 
some house by the Rossmarkt^ and derived a good income 
from salt-works. He too led a very secluded life : but 
in summer he was a great deal in his garden, near the 
Bockenheim Gate, where he watched and tended a very fine 
bed of carnations. 

Von Reineck was likewise a lover of carnations ; die 
flowering season had come, and the possibility of an inter- 
change of visits was mooted. We broached the matter, and 
were so persistent that at last von Reineck resolved to drive 
out with us one Sunday afternoon. The greeting of the two 
old gentlemen was very laconic, indeed entirely in dumb 
show, and they walked up and down the long frames of 
carnations like true diplomatists. The display was really 
extraordinarily beautiful, and the particular forms and colours 



1762-65] HOFRAT HUSGEN 139 

of the different flowers, the advantages of one over the other, 
and their rarity, at last gave rise to a sort of conversation 
which seemed growing quite friendly ; whereat we others re- 
joiced the more as we saw th^ rarest old Rhine wine in cut- 
glass decanters, beautiful fruit, and other good things spread 
upon a table in a neighbouring arbour. But these, alas I we 
were not to enjoy. For von Reineck unfortunately saw a 
very fine pink with its head hanging down ; he therefore took 
the stalk near the calyx very cautiously between his fore and 
middle fingers, and lifted the flower so that he could 
inspect it properly. But even this gentle handling vexed 
the owner. Von Malapert courteously, indeed, but very 
stiffly and somewhat self-complacently, reminded him of the 
oculis^ non manibus* Von Reineck had already let go the 
flower, but at once took fire at the words, and said in his 
usual dry, serious manner, that it was quite fitting for a 
lover and connoisseur of flowers to touch and examine them 
in such a manner. Whereupon he repeated the act, and 
again took the flower between his fingers. The friends of 
both parties — for von Malapert also had one present — were 
now in the greatest perplexity. They started one hare after 
another (that was our proverbial expression for interrupting 
a conversation and changing the subject), but all to no pur- 
pose j the old gentlemen had become quite silent, and we 
feared every moment that von Reineck would repeat the act, 
when all would be over with us. The two friends kept their 
principals apart by occupying them, now here, now there, and 
at last we found it most expedient to prepare to take our 
departure. Thus, alas 1 we were forced to turn our backs on 
the inviting side-board, with its dainties all untasted, 

HoFRAT HiJSGEN, not a native of Frankfort, was already 
sixty years old when I had writing lessons with his son, 
and so gained an entry into his house. He was a 
member of the Reformed Church,t and therefore not 
eligible for any public office including the profession of 
advocate, but his skill as a jurist won him so much 
confidence that he was able to practise quietly both in the 
Frankfort and the Imperial Courts, under the name of 

* Eyes, not hands. — Trans, 

t That is to say, he was a Calvinist, as distinguished from a 
Lutheran. — Trans, 



I40 POETRY AND TRUTH [part i. book iv 

another firm. His figure was tall without being thin, and 
broad without corpulency. It was impossible to look at 
his face, which was not only disfigured by small-pox but 
deprived of an eye, for the first time without a feeling of 
dread. He always wore on his bald head a perfectly white 
bell-shaped cap, tied at the top with a ribbon. His 
dressing-gowns, of calamanco or damask, were always very 
clean. He dwelt in a very cheerful suite of rooms on the 
ground-floor by the Allee^ and the neatness of everything 
about him corresponded with this cheerful aspect. The 
perfect arrangement of his papers, books, and maps, 
produced a favourable impression. His son Heinrich 
Sebastian^ afterwards known by various writings on art, 
gave little promise in his youth. Good-natured but 
awkward, not rude but blunt, and without any special desire 
to learn, he sought rather to avoid the presence of his father, 
as he could get all he wanted from his mother. I, on the 
other hand, grew more and more attached to the old man 
the more I knew of him. As he attended only to 
important cases, he had plenty of time to occupy and 
amuse himself in other ways. I had not long frequented 
his house and heard his doctrines, before I perceived that 
he stood in opposition to God and the world. One of his 
favourite books was Agrippa De Vanitate Scientiamniy which 
he especially commended to me, and so set my young brains 
in a considerable whirl for a time. In the happiness of 
youth I was inclined to optimism, and was now again at 
peace with God or the divine powers : for the experience of 
a series of years had taught me that there was much to 
counterbalance evil, that one often does recover from 
misfortune, and that one may be saved from dangers and 
does not always break one's neck. I looked with tolerance, 
too, on the ways and doings of men, and found many things 
worthy of praise with which my old gentleman was by no 
means satisfied. Indeed, once when he had sketched the 
world to me, in a somewhat bizarre light, I became aware 
that he meant to close the game with an important trump- 
card. He shut his blind left eye tightly, as he was wont 
to do on such occasions, looked keenly out of the other, 
and said in a nasal voice, " Even in God I discover 
defects." 



1762-65] FRANKFORT CHARACTERS: YOUNGER MEN I4I 

My Timonic mentor was also a mathematician, but his 
practical turn led him to mechanics, though he did not 
work himself. A clock, wonderful at least for those days, 
which indicated not only the days and hours, but the 
motions of the sun and moon, was constructed under his 
direction. On Sunday, at ten o'clock in the morning, he 
always wound it up himself, which he could do the more 
regularly as he never went to church. I never saw 
company nor guests at his house ; and scarcely twice in ten 
years do I remember to have seen him dressed and walking 
out of doors. 

My intercourse with these men was not without result, 
and each of them influenced me in his own way. To each 
I was as attentive as were his own children, if not more so, 
and each looked upon me as his loved son and strove to 
increase the pleasure he took in me by endeavouring to 
mould me in accordance with his moral ideal. Olenschlager 
would have made me a courtier, von Reineck a diplomatist ; 
both, the latter particularly, sought to disgust me with 
poetry and authorship. Hiisgen wished me to be a Timon 
after his fashion, but, at the same time, an able lawyer ; a 
necessary profession, he considered, providing an approved 
means of defending oneself and one's friends against the 
rabble, of succouring the oppressed, and above all, of pick- 
ing a quarrel with a rogue ; diough the last is not particularly 
practicable nor advisable. 

Though I liked to spend my time at the side of these men, 
in order to profit by their counsel and direction, younger men, 
only a little older than myself, roused me to directly emu- 
late them. First among these I would name the brothers 
ScHLOSSER, and Griesbach. But as my subsequent relations 
with them were more intimate and lasted for many years 
uninterruptedly, I will only add here that at that time they 
were pointed out to us as being distinguished in languages 
and other studies at the outset of their academic career, and 
held up to us as models, and that everybody cherished the 
certain expectation that they would some day do something 
out of the common in church and state. 

For my own part, I too had it in my mind to achieve 
something extraordinary, but in what it was to consist 
was not clear. But as we are apt to think rather of the 



142 POETRY AND TRUTH [part i. book iv 

reward which we should like to receive than of the 
merit which we ought to acquire, so, I do not deny, 
that if I thought of a happiness I would fain enjoy, 
the most fascinating shape in which it appeared to me 
was that of a laurel garland woven to adorn the poet's 
brow. 



FIFTH BOOK 

Every bird has its decoy, and every man is led and misled 
in a way peculiar to himself. Nature, education, circum- 
stances, and habit kept me apart from all that was coarse ; 
and though I often came into contact with the lower classes, 
particularly with mechanics, no close intimacy grew out of 
it. I had indeed boldness enough to prompt me to uncom- 
mon and perhaps dangerous undertakings, and often felt 
drawn to them ; but I lacked the capacity for seizing and 
holding the favourable opportunity. 

Meanwhile I was quite unexpectedly involved in an 
affair which brought me near to a great danger, and, for a 
time at least, into perplexity and distress. The friendly 
intercourse which I had had with the boy already mentioned 
under the name of Pylades continued beyond my childish 
days. We indeed saw each other less often, because our 
parents were not on the best of terms ; but when we did meet, 
the old warmth of friendship revived immediately. Once we 
met in the pleasant walk made by the avenues between the 
outer and inner gate of St. Callus. We had scarcely ex- 
changed greetings, when he said to me, " I have had the same 
experience as ever about your verses. I read aloud those you 
recently showed me to some good comrades of mine, and not 
one of them will believe that you have written them." *^ Do 
not let that trouble us," I answered ; " we will write them and 
enjoy them, and the others may think and say of them what 
they please." 

" Here comes the unbeliever himself," added my friend. 
"We will not speak of it/* I replied; "what is. the use? 
One cannot convert them." " By no means," said my friend; 
*^ I cannot let him off so easily." 

After a short conversation on indifferent topics, my young 
comrade, who was but too well disposed towards me, could 

143 



144 POETRY AND TRUTH [part i. book v 

not suffer the matter to drop without saying to the other, 
with some resentment, " Here is my friend who made those 
pretty verses, for which you will not give him credit ! " "He 
v^rill certainly not be offended at that," answered the other, 
" for we do him an honour when we suppose that more 
learning is required to make such verses than one of his 
years can possess." I made some casual answer ; but my 
friend continued, " It will not be very difficult to convince 
you. Give him any theme, and he will improvise you a 
poem on the spot." I fell in with the proposal, and the 
other asked me whether I would venture to compose a 
pretty love-letter in rhyme, which a modest yoimg woman 
might be supposed to write to a young man, to declare her 
inclination. " Nothing could be easier," I answered, " if I 
only had writing materials." He pulled out his pocket 
almanac, in which there were a great many blank leaves, and 
I sat down upon a bench to write. They walked about in 
the meanwhile, but always kept me in sight. I immediately 
brought my imagination to bear on the situation, and 
thought how pleasant it would be if some pretty girl were 
really attached to me, and wished to reveal her sentiments 
to me, either in prose or verse. I therefore began my 
declaration without delay, and in a very short time produced 
some verses, in form between doggerel and madrigal, and as 
simple as possible in style, which, when read aloud, filled the 
sceptic with astonishment, and my friend with delight. The 
former expressed his desire to keep the poem, and I could 
hardly refuse, seeing that it was written in his almanac; 
besides, I was glad to leave such documentary evidence of 
my capabilities in his hands. He left us with many assur- 
ances of admiration and respect, saying he wished for 
nothing more than that we should often meet ; so we settled 
soon to go together into the country. 

Our party actually took place, and was joined by several 
more young people of the same sort. They belonged to the 
middle, or, if you will, to the lower classes, and were not 
wanting in brains, and moreover, thanks to their school 
education, were fairly well informed and had a certain degree 
of culture. In a large, rich city there are many modes of 
gaining a livelihood, and they supported themselves by copy- 
ing for the lawyers, and by giving the children of the lower 



1762-65] FEIGNED LOVE-LETTER 145 

orders more advanced instruction than that of the elementary 
schools. They helped to prepare the older children, who 
were to be confirmed; then, again, they went errands for 
factors and merchants, and were thus enabled to enjoy 
themselves frugally in the evenings, and particularly on 
Sundays and festivals. 

On the way out, while they highly extolled my love- 
letter, they confessed to me that they had made use of it in 
a merry jest, viz. — they had copied it in a feigned hand, and, 
with a few pertinent allusions, had sent it to a conceited 
young man, who was now firmly persuaded that a lady to 
whom he had paid distant court was excessively enamoured 
of him, and sought an opportunity for closer acquaintance. 
At the same time, they told me in confidence that he now 
desired nothing more than to be able to answer her in verse; 
but that neither he nor they had any ability in that 
direction, so that they earnestly begged me to compose the 
much-desired reply. 

Mystifications are and will continue to be an amusement 
for idle, more or less intelligent people. A pardonable love 
of mischief, a malicious spirit of provocation form the 
delight of those who have neither resources in themselves 
nor a wholesome external activity. No age is quite abdye 
such trivial pleasures. We had often tricked each other in 
our childish years ; many games turned upon such mystifi- 
cations and tricks. The present jest did not seem to me of 
any greater consequence; I gave my consent. They in- 
formed me of many particulars which the letter ought to 
contain, and we brought it home already finished. 

A little while afterwards I was urgently invited, through 
my friend, to be present at one of the evening gatherings of 
that society. The lover, he said, was willing to bear the 
expense on this occasion, and desired expressly to thank 
the friend who had shown himself so excellent a poetical 
secretary. 

We assembled late enough, the meal was most frugal, the 
wine drinkable : while as for the conversation, it consisted 
almost entirely of jokes at the expense of our very foolish 
young host, who, after repeated readings of the letter, almost 
believed that he had written it himself. 

My natural good-nature would not allow me to take 

VOL. I. L 



146 POETRY AND TRUTH [part 1. book v 

much pleasure in such a malicious deception, and the 
continual harping on this one theme soon disgusted me. I 
should certainly have passed a tedious evening, if an unex- 
pected arrival had not revived me. On our entrance the 
table was already neatly and tidily set, and sufficient wine 
had been served ; so we sat down, and were left to ourselves, 
without requiring any attendance. However, as the wine 
ran short at last, one of them called for the maid; but 
instead of the maid there came in a girl of uncommon, and, 
when contrasted with her surroundings, of astonishing 
beauty. *' What is it you want ? " she asked, after a friendly 
greeting; "the maid is ill in bed. Can I serve you?" 
" The wine has run short," said one ; " if you would fetch 
u§ a few bottles, it would be very kind of you." " Do, 
Gretchen *," said another, " it is only a step or two." " Why 
not ? " she answered, and, taking a few empty bottles from 
the table, she hastened out. Her appearance, as she turned 
her back on us, was even more attractive. The little cap 
sat so neatly upon her little head, poised gracefully in its 
turn upon a slender throat. Her whole person breathed a 
peculiar charm which could be more fully appreciated when 
one's attention was no longer exclusively attracted and 
fettfered by the clear, calm eyes and lovely mouth. I 
reproved my comrades for sending the girl out alone at 
night, but they only laughed at me, and I was soon consoled 
by her return, as the publican lived only just across the 
way. " Sit down with us, as a reward," said one. She did 
so ; but, alas, she did not come near me. She drank a glass 
to our health, and left us, advising us not to carry on our 
revels too late into the night, and not to be so noisy, 
as her mother was just going to bed. It was not, however, 
her own mother, but the mother of our hosts. 

This girl's image never left me from that moment ; it was 
the first durable impression made upon me by any woman ; 
and as I could find no pretext to see her at home, and 
would not seek one, I went to church for love of her, and 
soon discovered where she sat. Thus, during the long 
Protestant service, I gazed my fill at her. When the con- 
gregation left the church I did not venture to accost her, 
much less to accompany her, and was perfectly delighted if 
* The diminutive of Margaret. — Trans, 



1762-65] FIRST ACQUAINTANCE WITH GRETCHEN I47 

she seemed to observe me and to return my greeting with 
a nod. Yet I was not long denied the happiness of ap- 
proaching her. They had persuaded the suitor, whose 
poetical secretary I had been, that the letter written in 
his name had been actually sent to the lady, so that he 
lived in daily expectation of an answer. It was intended 
that I should write this too; and the roguish conspirators 
entreated me earnestly, through Pylades, to exert all my wit 
and employ all my art, to make this composition a master- 
piece of elegance. 

In the hope of agftin seeing my fair one, I set to work 
immediately, and thought of everything that would please 
me most if Gretchen were writing it to me. I seemed to 
have expressed myself so completely after her form, her 
nature, her manner, and her mind, that I could not refrain 
from wishing that it were so in reality, and lost myself 
in rapture at the mere thought that something similar could 
be sent from her to me. Thus I deluded myself, while I 
intended to impose upon another ; and so laid myself open 
to much joy and to much trouble. By the time I was once 
more summoned, my work was ready ; I promised to come, 
and did not fail at the appointed hour. Only one of the 
young men was at home; Gretchen sat at the window 
spinning; the mother was busy about the house. The 
young man asked me to read it aloud to him ; I complied, 
not without emotion, glancing at intervals from the paper 
at the beautiful girl before me ; and, as I read, the slight 
uneasiness and faint flush I seemed to notice only helped me 
to render with more zest and fire those words which I would 
fain have heard from her own lips. The cousin, who had 
often interrupted me with commendations, at last entreated 
me to make some improvements. These concerned some 
passages which indeed were rather adapted to Gretchen's 
condition than to that of the lady in question, who was 
of a good family, wealthy, and known and respected in the 
city. The young man then pointed out the desired changes, 
brought me writing materials, and took his leave for a short 
time to attend to some business matters. I remained 
sitting on the bench against the wall, behind the large table, 
and made an attempt at the alterations that were to be 
made, using for the purpose the large slate, which almost 



148 POETRY AND TRUTH [part i. book v 

covered the whole table, and a pencil that always lay in the 
window, both of which were used to jot down reckonings or 
memoranda of various kinds, or even as a means of com- 
munication between incoming and outgoing guests. 

I had for a while written different things and rubbed 
them out again, when I exclaimed impatiently, " It will not 
do ! " " So much the better," the girl said gravely ; " I am 
glad it will not do. You should not meddle in such matters." 
She arose from the distaff, and stepping towards the table, 
gave me a severe lecture, with a great deal of good sense 
and kindliness. " The thing seems an innocent jest ; it is 
a jest, but it is not innocent. I have already known several 
cases, in which our young men, for the sake of mere 
mischief of that kind, have brought themselves into great 
difficulties." "But what shall I do?" I asked; "the 
letter is written, and they rely upon me to alter it." " Trust 
me," she replied, " and do not alter it ; rather takd it back, 
put it in your pocket, go away, and try to put matters 
straight through your friend. I will also put in a word ; for 
look you, though I am a poor girl, and dependent upon 
these relations — ^who indeed do no harm, though they will 
often risk a good deal for the sake of fun or profit — I held 
out against them, and would not copy the first letter, as they 
requested. They wrote it in a feigned hand, and can do the 
same with this one, unless they devise some other expedient. 
But you, a young man of good family, rich, independent, 
why will you allow yourself to be used as a tool in a business 
which can certainly bring you no good, and may possibly 
have most unpleasant consequences ? " It was a pleasure 
to me to hear her speak at such length, for as a rule she 
took small part in the conversation. My feeling for her 
grew so strong, that, no longer master of myself, I replied, 
" I am not so independent as you suppose ; and of what 
use is wealth to me, when I may not have the most precious 
thing I can desire ? " 

She drew the rough copy of my verses towards her, and 
read them in soft, low undertones. " That is very pretty," 
said she, stopping short at a sort of naive conceit ; " but it 
is a pity that it is not destined for any genuine purpose." 
" That would indeed be desirable," I cried, " and, oh ! how 
happy would that man be who received such a proof of 



1762-65] FIRST LOVE 149 

affection from a girl he tenderly loved." " It would not be 
likely to happen," she answered; "and yet many things 
are possible." "For example," I continued, "if anyone 
who knew, prized, honoured, and worshipped you, were 
to lay such a paper before you, and besought you very 
earnestly and tenderly, what would you do?" And I 
once more pushed towards her the paper she had just 
returned to me. She smiled, considered for a moment, 
took the pen, and signed her name. I was beside myself 
with rapture, sprang to my feet, and would have embraced 
her. " No kissing ! " she said, " that is so vulgar ; but let 
us love each other if we can." I had picked up the paper, 
and thrust it into my pocket. •' No one shall ever get it," 
said I j "the affair is at an end. You have rescued me." 
" Now complete the rescue," she exclaimed, " and hurry off, 
before the others come, and you get into trouble and diffi- 
culty." I could not tear myself away from her, but she 
gently urged me, warmly pressing my right hand in both of 
hers ! Tears stood in my eyes ; I thought hers, too, were 
wet. I pressed my face upon her hands and hastened 
away. Never in my life had I been in such a tumult of 
emotion. 

The first impulses of love, where youth is still pure and 
unspoiled, will be free from all taint of sensuality. Nature 
seems to intend that each sex should find in the other an 
embodiment of the ideas of virtue and beauty. Thus the 
sight of this girl, and my love for her, had opened out to me 
a new world of loveliness and goodness, I read my poetic 
epistle a hundred times, gazed upon the signature, kissed it, 
pressed it to my heart, and rejoiced in its gracious avowal. 
But the more my transports increased, the more did it pain 
me, not to be able to visit her immediately, and to see and 
converse with her again; for I dreaded the reproofs and 
importunities of her cousins. Good Pylades, who might 
have acted as peacemaker, I could not contrive to meet. 
The next Sunday, therefore, I set out for Niederrad, where 
these associates generally met, and, as I expected, found 
them there. I was, however, greatly surprised, when, 
instead of behaving in a cross, distant manner, they greeted 
me with smiles and good humour. The youngest particu- 
larly was very friendly, took me by the hand, and said, 



150 POETRY AND TRUTH [part i. book v 

" You played a sorry trick on us just now, and we were very 
angry with you ; but when you left us and took the poetic 
epistle with you^ we thought of a plan which otherwise might 
never have occurred to us. By way of atonement, you 
may treat us to-day, and you shall hear at the same time 
of our excellent idea : you will certainly be delighted with 
it." This address put me in no little perplexity ; for I had 
about me money enough to pay scot for myself and a 
friend ; but I was by no means prepared to stand treat for 
a whole company, especially one such as this, whose con- 
viviality knew no bounds. Nay, the proposal astonished 
me the more, as they had always insisted, in the most 
honourable manner, that each one should pay only his own 
share. They smiled at my distress, and the youngest con- 
tinued, " Let us first sit down comfortably in the arbour, 
and then you shall learn more." We sat down, and he 
said, " When you had taken the love-letter with you, we 
talked the whole affair over once more, and came to the 
conclusion that out of mere love of mischief we had 
gratuitously abused your talent to the vexation of others 
and our own danger, when we could have employed it to 
the advantage of all of us. See, I have here an order both 
for a wedding-poem and for a dirge. The latter must be 
ready immediately, the former can wait a week. Now, if 
you will write these, which is an easy task for you, you will 
be treating us twice over, and we shall long remain your 
debtors." The proposal pleased me in every respect ; for 
from my childhood I had looked with a certain envy on 
those occasional poems, which then appeared in consider- 
able numbers every week, indeed, in the case of fashionable 
weddings, by the dozen, because I thought I could do such 
things as well, if not better than others. Now an oppor- 
tunity was offered me to distinguish myself, and especially 
to see myself in print. I showed no disinclination to 
comply. They acquainted me with personal details and 
other circumstances concerning the family ; I withdrew to 
a little distance, made my rough sketch, and carried out 
one or two stanzas. However, when I rejoined the company, 
and made free use of the wine, the poem began to halt, and 
I was unable to hand it over to them that evening. " There 
is still time before to-morrow evening," they said; *' besides. 



1762-65J GRETCHEN AND HER FRIENDS 15I 

we must confess that the fee which we are to receive for 
the dirge is enough to pay for another merry night to- 
morrow. Come to usj for it is only fair that Gretchen 
should sup with us too, as it was really she who gave us the 
idea." My joy was unspeakable. On my way home I 
thought of nothing but the remaining stanzas, wrote down 
the whole before I went to sleep, and the next morning 
copied out the whole most neatly. The day seemed never- 
ending to me ; and no sooner was it dusk, than I found 
myself again in the narrow little dwelling by my dear 
Gretchen's side. 

The young persons with whom in this way I formed a 
closer and closer connection were not exactly vulgar, but 
very ordinary people. Their energy was commendable, 
and I liked to listen to them when they spoke of the 
manifold ways and means by which it was possible to gain 
a living ; above all they loved to tell of people who, though 
now very rich, had begun with no means at all. Others to 
whom they referred had rendered themselves indispensable 
to their employers as errand boys, and had finally risen to 
be their sons-in-law; while others had so enlarged and 
improved a little trade, in matches and the like, that they 
were now prosperous merchants and tradesmen. But the 
most profitable means of gaining a livelihood, for young and 
active men, was, no doubt, the trade of agent and factor, 
and the undertaking of all sorts of commissions and charges 
for wealthy men who were lacking in enterprise. We 
all listened eagerly, and each fancied himself somebody, 
and imagined, for the moment, that he had in him the 
makings, not only of a successful man, but of a millionaire. 
But no one seemed to be more engrossed in such con- 
versation than Pylades, who at last confessed that he was 
deeply in love with a girl, and was actually engaged to her. 
The circumstances of his parents would not allow him to 
go to the university, but he had endeavoured to acquire 
a good style of handwriting, a knowledge of accounts and 
of modern languages, and intended now to exert himself 
to the utmost, with the prospect of a happy home in view. 
His cousins praised him for this intention, although they 
did not approve of premature engagements, and added, 
that though they were bound to acknowledge him to be a 



1 52 POETRY AND TRUTH [part i. book v 

good honest fellow, they did not consider him active or 
enterprising enough to do anything extraordinary. In self^ 
vindication, he began circumstantially to set forth what he 
thought himself fit for, and how he was going to begin, and 
this stirreid up the others, so that each one began to tell of 
his present capabilities and occupations, of his performance 
up to that time, and of his prospects for the future. It 
came at last to my turn to explain my career and prospects, 
and while I was considering, Pylades said, " I make this 
one proviso : if we are not to be left too far behind, he is 
not to take into consideration the external advantages of his 
position. He should rather draw on his imagination and 
tell us what he would do, if at this moment he were thrown 
entirely upon his own resources, as we are." 

Gretchen, who till this moment had kept on spinning, 
rose and sat down as usual at the end of the table. We 
had already emptied several bottles, and I began to relate 
my hypothetical career in the best of humours. " First of 
all, then," I said, ** I beg that you will continue to favour me 
with the custom you have already begun to bestow on me. 
If you in course of time secure me the profits of all 
occasional poems, and we do not consume them in mere 
carousing, I shall have made a very creditable beginning. 
But then you must not take it ill if I also dabble in your 
handicraft." Upon this I told them what I had observed 
of their occupations, and which I thought myself capable of 
following with success. Each one had already estimated 
his earnings, and I now asked them to help me in making 
out my balance-sheet. Gretchen had been listening the 
whole time very attentively, and that in a characteristic 
attitude which well suited her, whether she chose to hear or 
to speak. She would sit with her arms folded, resting on 
the table, her hands clasping her elbows, only turning her 
head from time to time when occasion warranted. Once or 
twice she had put in a word and helped us over some 
obstacle in the unfolding of our projects, and then had fallen 
back into her customary silence. I never lost sight of her 
for a moment, and it may readily be imagined that my 
plan was not framed or expounded without reference to 
her; whilst my passion gave such an air of truth and 
probability to my words, that for a moment I deceived 



1762-65] GRETCHEN AND HER FRIENDS 1 53 

myself, imagined myself as lonely and helpless as my story 
supposed, and yet was filled with joy at the prospect of 
possessing her. Pylades' confession had culminated in 
marriage, and the question now arose among the rest of us, 
whether our plans would carry us as far as that " I have 
not the least doubt on that score," said I, " for a wife is 
indeed necessary to every one of us, to help us to keep 
and enjoy at home the wealth which we have amassed 
abroad by such strange ways and means." I then made 
a sketch of a wife after my heart's desire, and it would 
have been strange indeed had she not been a perfect 
counterpart of Gretchen. 

The profits of the dirge were now consumed ; but luckily 
the epithalamium was still to hand. I overcame all fear 
and care, and contrived, as I had many acquaintances, to 
conceal from my family the actual way in which I spent my 
evenings. To see my dear Gretchen, and to be near her, 
was soon an indispensable condition of existence for me. 
My friends had grown just as accustomed to me, and we 
were almost daily together, as if nothing else were possible. 
Pylades had, in the mean time, introduced his sweetheart to 
the house, and the pair passed many an evening with us. 
Though their betrothal was of most recent date, yet they 
did not attempt to conceal their attachment; Gretchen's 
behaviour to me, on the contrary, was only such as to keep 
me at a distance. She gave her hand to no one, not even to 
me ; she allowed no one to touch her ; yet she often sat near 
me, particularly when I wrote or read aloud, and would lay 
her arm quite naturally upon my shoulders, as she looked 
over my book or paper. If, however, I ventured on a 
similar liberty with her, she would escape and keep away 
from me for some Uttle time. Yet she would repeatedly 
take up this same position; and, indeed, all her attitudes 
and movements showed little variety, but were always 
appropriate and irresistibly charming. But I never saw 
her use such freedom towards anybody else. 

One of the most innocent, and at the same time most 
amusing, expeditions in which I engaged with different sets 
of young companions, was this : we would take places in the 
Hochst market-boat, observe the strange passengers packed 
into it, and banter and tease, now this one, now that, as 



154 POETRY AND TRUTH [part i. book v 

pleasure or caprice prompted. At Hochst we would get 
out just as the market-boat from Mainz arrived. One hotel 
kept a good table, where the better sort of travellers met 
on their several ways, ate with each other, and then joined 
the boats on their return journey. Every time, after dining, 
we sailed up to Frankfort, having had the cheapest possible 
sail, and in a goodly company. Once I had taken this trip 
with Gretchen's cousins, when a young man joined us at 
table in Hochst, who might be a little older than we were. 
They knew him, and he got himself introduced to me. 
There was something very pleasing in his manner, though 
he was not otherwise remarkable. Coming from Mainz, he 
now went back with us to Frankfort, and we talked to- 
gether of everything that related to the internal administra- 
tion of the city, and to public offices and positions, on 
which topics he seemed to me to be very well informed. 
When we separated he bade me farewell, adding that he 
hoped he had impressed me favourably, and might on occa- 
sion avail himself of a recommendation from me. I did not 
know what he meant by this, but the cousins enlightened 
me some days after ; they spoke well of him, and asked me 
to speak on his behalf to my grandfather, as a fairly good 
appointment was just now vacant, which this friend would 
like to obtain. I at first excused myself, because I had 
never meddled in such matters; but they went on urging 
me until I consented. I had already many times remarked 
that, in these appointments, which unfortunately were often 
regarded as matters of favour, the request of my grand- 
mother or of an aunt had not been without efifect. I had 
now come to an age when I might hope to have some 
influence of my own. For that reason, to gratify my 
friends, who declared they would be infinitely obliged to 
me for such a kindness, I overcame the timidity of a grand- 
child, and undertook to deliver a written application that 
was placed in my hands. 

One Sunday, after dinner, when my grandfather was busy 
in his garden, all the more so because autumn was approach- 
ing, and I always tried to help him in every way, I ventured, 
after some hesitation, to approach him with my request and 
petition. He looked at it, and asked me whether I knew 
the young man. I told him in general what there was to 



1762-65] GRETCHEN*S NEW SITUATION 1 55 

say, and he listened to my statement. ** If he has merit, and 
moreover good testimonials, I will consider him favourably 
for your sake and his own." He said no more, and for a 
long while I heard nothing of the matter. 

For some time I had observed that Gretchen span no 
more, but on the other hand was busy sewing, and that, 
too, on very fine work, which surprised me all the more, as 
the days were already shortening, and winter was coming 
on. I thought no more about it, only it troubled me that 
several times I had not found her at home in the morning 
as I used to, and could not learn, without being im- 
portunate, where she had gone. Yet I was destined one 
day to be very strangely surprised. My sister, who was 
getting ready for a ball, asked me to fetch her some 
so-called Italian flowers from a milliner's. They were 
made in convents, and were small and pretty; especially 
myrtles, cluster roses, and the like, which were imitated to 
perfection. I went on her errand, and came to the shop 
where I had already often been with her. Hardly had I 
entered and greeted the proprietress, when I saw sitting in 
the window a female figure, whose lace cape and silk man- 
tilla looked as if they might conceal a young and pretty 
face and comely form. I could easily see that she was an 
assistant, for she was occupied in fastening a ribbon and 
feathers upon a hat. The milliner showed me the long 
box with single flowers of various sorts; I looked them 
over, and as I made my choice glanced again towards the 
figure in the window ; but how great was my astonishment 
when I perceived an incredible likeness to Gretchen, nay, 
was forced to be convinced at last that it was Gretchen 
herself. No doubt remained, when by a glance she warned 
me that I must not betray our acquaintance. Now, what 
with choosing and rejecting, I drove the milliner to despair 
even more than a lady could have done. I had, in fact, no 
discrimination left, for I was excessively confused, and at 
the same time liked to linger, because it kept me near the 
girl, whose disguise annoyed me, though in that disguise 
she appeared to me more enchanting than ever. Finally, 
the milliner seemed to lose all patience, and with her own 
hands selected for me a whole bandbox full of flowers, 
which I was to take to my sister and let her choose for 



156 POETRY AND TRUTH [part i. book v 

herself. Thus I was, as it were, driven out of the shop, 
while she sent the box on by one of her girls. 

Scarcely had I reached home than my father sent for 
me, and informed me that it was now quite certain that the 
Archduke Joseph would be elected and crowned King of 
the Romans. An event so highly important was not to be 
awaited without preparation, nor allowed to pass by in mere 
gaping astonishment. He wished, therefore, he said, to go 
through with me the diaries of the two last elections and 
coronations, as well as through the last election stipulations, 
in order to notice what new conditions might be added in 
the present instance. The diaries were opened, and we 
busied ourselves with them the whole day till far into the 
night, while the pretty girlj now in her old house-dress, now 
in her new costume, ever hovered before me, in and out 
amopg the most august concerns of the Holy Roman Empire. 
This evening it was impossible to see her, and I lay awake 
through a very restless night. Our yesterday's study was 
zealously resumed next day, and it was not till towards 
evening that I found it possible to visit my sweetheart, 
whom I found again in her usual house-dress. She smiled 
when she saw me, but I did not venture to mention anything 
before the others. When the whole company were once 
more quietly settled, she began, " It is unfair that you do 
not confide to our friend what we have lately resolved 
upon." She then went on to say, that after our late con- 
versation, in which it was discussed how one could best get 
on in the world, something had also been said of the way 
in which a woman could enhance the value of her talents 
and work, and employ her time to the best advantage. The 
cousins had consequently proposed that she should make an 
experiment at a milliner's who was just then in want of an 
assistant. They had, she said, arranged with the woman ; 
she went there so many hours a-day, and was well paid ; 
only, when there, she was obliged, for propriety's sake, to 
conform to a certain dress, which, however, she left behind 
her every time, as it did not at all suit her other modes of 
life and employment I was entirely set at rest by this 
explanation, but was not quite pleased to think that this 
pretty girl was in a public shop, and in a place which was 
not infrequently the resort of the fashionable world. But I 



1762-65] OCCASIONAL POEMS 1 57 

was careful not to betray my feelings, and did my best to 
conquer my jealous anxiety in silence. But I was not 
allowed much breathing-space, for the younger cousin once 
more brought forward a proposal for another occasional 
poem, gave me the personal details, and askfed me to set 
to work at once to think out and arrange the subject- 
matter. He had already talked over the proper treatment 
of such a theme with me several times, and as I was always 
ready to talk on such points, he had had no difficulty in 
X)ersuading me to explain to him circumstantially the 
rhetorical merits of such productions, with other general 
ideas on the subject, with illustrations from my own work in 
this line and that of others. The young man was not with- 
out brains, though quite devoid of poetical talent, and now 
he went so much into detail, and asked for such minute 
particulars, that I ventured to remark : " It looks as if you 
wanted to encroach upon my trade and steal away my 
customers ! " "I will not attempt to deny it," he said, 
smiling, " as I shall do you no harm by it. It can only 
continue till you go to the university, and in the mean time 
you must allow me still to derive some profit from your 
society." " Very willingly," I replied, and encouraged him 
to draw out a plan, to choose a metre adapted to the nature 
of his subject, and so forth. He set to work very earnestly, 
but could not succeed. I was in the end compelled to 
re-write so much of it, that it would have been easier and 
more satisfactory for me to have written it all from the 
beginning myself. Yet this teaching and learning, this 
work in common, afforded us good entertainment : Gretchen 
took part in it, suggesting many a pretty notion, so that we 
were all contented, and, I may say, happy. During the day 
she worked at the milliner*s : in the evenings we generally 
met together, and our contentment was not even disturbed 
when at last the orders for occasional poems began to drop 
off. Still we felt hurt once, when one of them came 
back rejected, because it did not suit the patron who had 
ordered it. We consoled ourselves, however, by setting him 
down as a bad judge, since we considered this our very best 
production. The cousin, who was determined at any rate 
to learn something, resorted to the expedient of inventing 
subjects, in the treatment of which we always found plenty 



158 POETRY AND TRUTP [part i. book v 



^ 



of amusement, but as they brought us in nothing, our little 
banquets had to be much more frugally managed. 

The great political event, the election and coronation of a 
'King of the Romans, was more and more engrossing public 
attention. The assembly of the Electoral College, originally 
appointed to take place at Augsburg in the October of 1763, 
was now transferred to Frankfort, and both at the end of 
this year and in the beginning of the next, preparations for 
this important gathering went busily forward. The begin- 
ning was made with a procession such as we had never yet 
witnessed. One of our chancery officials on horseback, 
escorted by four mounted trumpeters and surrounded by a 
guard of infantry, read out in a loud clear voice in the several 
quarters of the city, a lengthy edict, announcing the forth- 
coming proceedings, and exhorting the citizens to a becoming 
behaviour, worthy of the circumstances. The Council was 
engaged in weighty deliberations, and it was not long before 
the Imperial Quartermaster, despatched by the Hereditary 
Grand Marshal, made his appearance, according to an old- 
established custom, in order to arrange and designate the 
residences of the ambassadors and their suites. Our house 
lay in the Palatine district, and we had to provide for a new, 
but this time pleasant, billeting. The middle storey, formerly 
occupied by Count Thorane, was given up to a knight of the 
Palatinate, and as Baron von Konigsthal, the Nuremberg 
chargk d'affaires^ occupied the upper floor, we were even 
more crowded than at the time of the French occupation. 
This served me as a new pretext for being out of doors and 
passing the greater part of the day in the streets, seeing all 
there was to be seen. 

We were first interested in watching the preliminary 
alterations and arrangements of the rooms in the Town Hall ; 
then followed the arrival of the ambassadors one after 
another, and their first state procession in a body, on the 
6th of February, and finally the entrance of the Imperial 
Commissioners, and their ascent also to the Romer^ which 
took place with great pomp. The dignified bearing of the 
Prince of Lichtenstein made a good impression on us ; 
yet connoisseurs maintained that the showy liveries had 
already been used on another occasion, and that this 
election and coronation could hardly be said to equal that 



1762-65] PREPARATIONS FOR THE ELECTION 1 59 

of Charles VII. in magnificence. We younger ones were 
well content with what we saw; thought it all very fine, 
and much of it quite astounding. 

The Electoral Congress was fixed at last for the 3rd of 
March. New formalities again set the city in a stir, and the 
interchange of visits of ceremony on the part of the ambas- 
sadors kept us in continual excitement We were compelled, 
too, to watch closely, as we were not to be mere idle 
spectators, but to make careful observations which would 
enable us to give a full report at home, and even to write 
short sketches. These had been suggested by my father and 
Herr von Konigsthal, partly as good exercise for us, and 
partly for their own information. This proved of peculiar 
advantage for me, as it enabled me to keep a very tolerable 
diary of current events during the whole coronation time. 

The first person to make a lasting impression on me was 
the chief ambassador from the electorate of Mainz, Baron 
VON Erthal, afterwards Elector. Though there was nothing 
striking in his appearance, I always liked to see him in his 
black gown trimmed with lace. The second ambassador. 
Baron von Groschlag, had a well-built figure, with all the 
ease and decorum of manner befitting a man of the world. 
He gave one a general impression of affability. Prince 
EsTERHAZY, the Bohemian envoy, was not tall, though well- 
built, vivacious, and of aristocratic bearing, yet neither 
proud nor cold. I had a special liking for him, because 
he reminded me of Marechal de Broglio. Yet the appear- 
ance and dignity of these worthies was quite cast into 
the shade by the general prejudice in favour of Baron von 
Plotho, the Brandenburg ambassador. This man, dis- 
tinguished by a certain parsimony, both in personal attire, in 
liveries and equipages, had been held in great esteem, ever 
since the Seven Years' War, as a diplomatic genius. At 
Ratisbon, when the notary Aprill had ventured, in the 
presence of witnesses, to serve him with the writ of outlawry 
which had been issued against the King, he had merely 
exclaimed, " What ! you serve a writ ? " and thrown him, or 
had him thrown, downstairs. We thought the former, be- 
cause it pleased us best, and we could readily believe it of 
the little well^it figure, with black, fiery, restless eyes. He 
-was the ceniw of observation, and wherever he alighted 



l60 POETRY AND TRUTH [part i. book v 

there would rise a kind of delighted murmur which would 
easily have broken out into loud acclamations and shouts of 
" Vivat! Bravo/'' So high did the King, and all who 
were devoted to him, body and soul, stand in the favour of 
the crowd, which consisted not only of the inhabitants of 
Frankfort but of Germans from all parts of the kingdom. 

On the one hand I took great pleasure in these things ; 
for every event, no matter of what nature, concealed a 
hidden meaning, pointed to inner developments, so that all 
these symbolic ceremonies seemed to restore to life that 
old German Empire, hitherto buried under the weight of 
parchments, papers, and books. But, on the other hand, 
when I was forced, at home, on my father's account, to 
transcribe the transactions of the assembly, I could not 
suppress a secret displeasure at the spectacle here afforded 
of several powers, balancing each other, standing in 
opposition, and only agreeing in their united purpose of 
restricting the powers of the new ruler even more than those 
of the old ; each one valuing his influence only in so far as 
he hoped to retain or enlarge his privileges, and better to 
secure his independence. Indeed, on this occasion they 
were more on their guard than usual, because they began to 
fear Joseph the Second, for his vehemence and his supposed 
intentions. 

With my grandfather and other members of the council, 
whose families I used to visit, this was a tedious time, they 
were kept so busy meeting distinguished guests, making 
ceremonial visits and delivering presents. No less had 
the magistracy need, both as a body and individually, to 
defend itself, to resist, and to protest, since everyone on 
such occasions tries to extort something from it, or to 
lay some burden upon it, and few of those to whom it 
appeals support it, or lend it their aid. In short, I was 
forcibly reminded of all that I had read in Lersnet^s 
Chronicle about similar incidents on similar occasions, 
much admiring the patience and perseverance of those 
good old councillors. 
I Many troubles also arise from the fact that the city is 

I gradually overrun with all kinds of people, both useful and 
' useless. It is in vain for the city to remind the courts of 
the prescriptions of the Golden Bull, now, inKed, obsolete* 



1762-65] DAY OF ELECTION FIXED 161 

Not only the deputies with their attendants, but many 
persons of rank, and others who came from curiosity or for 
private reasons, claim official recognition, and the question as 
to who is to have free quarters, and who is to hire his own 
lodging, cannot always be decided at once. The confusion 
increases daily, and even those who have no concern or 
responsibiUty in the matter, begin to feel uncomfortable. 

Even we young people, who were mere lookers-on, con- 
tinually found something which did not quite satisfy our 
eyes or our imagination. The Spanish cloaks, the huge 
feathered hats of the ambassadors, and other objects of the 
kind, had the correct old-fashioned look ; but there was a 
great deal, on the other hand, so comparatively new or 
thoroughly modem, that the appearance of the whole 
was often motley, unsatisfactory, and even out of taste. So 
we were glad to learn that great preparations were being 
made for the journey to Frankfort of the Emperor and future 
King ; that the proceedings of the College of Electors, 
which were based on the last Capitulation, were now 
rapidly going forward ; and that the Day of Election had 
been appointed for the 27 th of March. The insignia of the 
Empire were to be fetched from Nurembei^ and Aix-la- 
Chapelle, and next we expected the arrival of the Elector of 
Mainz, though the disputes with his ambassadors about the 
question of quarters still continued. 

Meanwhile I pursued my clerkly labours at home very 
actively, and so had brought under my notice various 
suggestions as to detail, which came in from all sides, in 
order to be taken into consideration in the new Capitulations. 
Every rank hoped to see its privileges guaranteed and its 
importance increased by this instrument. Many of these 
criticisms and requests were^ however, put aside; much 
remained unchanged; though the objectors received the 
most positive assurances that the disregard of their sugges- 
tions should in no wise prejudice their interests. 

In the meanwhile the officers of the Imperial Marshal 
were forced to undertake many arduous duties ; the crowd 
of visitors increased, and it became more and more diffi- 
cult to find lodgings for them. Nor was there unanimity 
as to the lim^ of the different electoral districts. The 
magistracy wisWd to spare the citizens burdens which they 

VOL. I. M 



1 62 POETRY AND TRUTH [part i. book v 

were not bound to bear, and thus day and night there 
were hourly grievances, redresses, contests, and misunder- 
standings. 

The entrance of the Elector of Mainz into the town 
took place on the 21st of May. Then began those salvos 
of cannon which were to deafen us frequently for so long. 
This was an important event in the series of ceremonies; 
for all the men whom we had seen hitherto, high as was 
their rank, were still only subordinates ; but now a sovereign 
appeared on the scenes, an independent prince, next in 
degree to the Emperor, preceded and accompanied by a 
large retinue befitting his position. Of the pomp which 
marked his entrance 1 should have much to tell, if I did 
not purpose recurring to it later, and in an unexpected 
context 

For, as it happened, that very day Lavater, on his 
r^rn home from Berlin, came through Frankfort, and 
saw the ceremony. Now, though such worldly formalities 
could not have the least value for him, this procession, 
with its display and all its accessories, must have made a 
distinct impression on his susceptible imagination; for, 
many years afterwards, when this distinguished but singular 
man showed me a poetical paraphrase of, I believe, the 
Revelation of St. John, I found that his description of the 
entrance of Anti-Christ was copied, in every step, form, 
and circumstance, from the entrance of the Elector of Mainz 
into Frankfort, with such exactness that not even the tassels 
on the heads of the dun-coloured horses were wanting. 
I shall have more to say on this point when I reach the 
epoch of that strange style of poetry, by which it was 
supposed that the myths of the Old and New Testaments 
were brought closer to our eyes and heart when completely 
travestied in modern guise, and endued with the vestments of 
modern life, whether high or low. How this mode of treat- 
ment gradually obtained favour, will be also more fully 
discussed in the sequel; yet I may here simply remark that it 
could not well be carried further than it was by Lavater and 
his emulators, one of these having described the three wise 
men riding into Bethlehem, in a travesty so modern that 
the princes and noblemen whom I^avater ugfed to visit were 
easily recognizable in the various charactei 



u^d 



1762-65] DESCRIPTION TO GRETCHEN 1 63 

We will then for the present allow the Elector Emme- 
rich Joseph to enter the Compostello incognito, as it were, 
and turn to Gretchen, whom, just as the throng was dis- 
persing, I spied in the crowd, accompanied by Pylades and 
his lady-love, for the three now seemed inseparable. We 
had no sooner met and exchanged greetings, than it was 
agreed that we should pass the evening together, and I kept 
the appointment punctually. The usual company had 
assembled, and every one had something to tell, to say, or 
to observe — how one had been most struck by one thing, 
and another by another. "Your talk," said Gretchen at 
last, "perplexes me even more than the actual events 
themselves. I cannot quite make out what I have seen, 
and should very much like to know what a great deal of it 
means." I told her I could easily oblige her on this point. 
She had only to mention what particularly interested her. 
She did so, and as I was setting out to explain some individual 
points, they agreed that it would be much better to take 
things in order. I not unaptly compared these solemnities 
and functions to a play, in which the curtain was let down 
at will, while the actors played on, and was then raised 
again, so that the spectators could once more, to some 
extent, follow the action. And being very loquacious when 
once allowed my own way, I began to describe the whole, 
from the beginning to that very day, in uninterrupted 
sequence; and to make my subject more inteUigible, did 
not fail to make use of the pencil and large slate which lay to 
hand. With a few slight interruptions from questions and 
obstinate assertions on the part of the others, I brought my 
discourse to a satisfactory close, and the imbroken attention 
which Gretchen had bestowed on my narrative encouraged 
me not a little. At the end she thanked me, saying that 
she envied all who were well informed in the affairs of this 
world, and knew how things came about and what they 
signified. She wished she were a boy, and managed to 
acknowledge, in the friendliest way, that this was not the 
first time she was indebted to me for valuable information. 
"If I were a boy," said she, "we would study properly 
together at the university." The conversation continued in 
this strain ; she definitively resolved to learn French, for the 
milliner's shop had made her realize how very necessary it 



I64 POETRY AND TRUTH [part i. book v 

was. I asked her why she no longer went there ; for these 
last days, not being able "to go out much in the evening, 
I had often passed the shop in the daytime for her sake, 
merely to see her for a moment. She explained that she 
had not liked to expose herself to any risks there in these 
unsettled times. As soon as the city reverted to its usual 
state, she intended to return. 

Our talk next turned on the impending Election Day. I 
was able to tell them in full what was going to happen, 
what were the arrangements made, and to illustrate my 
demonstration by drawings on the slate ; for the conclave 
chamber, with its altars, thrones, seats, and chairs, was 
perfectly in my mind's eye. We separated at the usual 
time, and in an unusually pleasant frame of mind. 

For there is no sweeter bond of union for a young couple, 
whom nature has endowed with common sympathies, than 
when the maiden is anxious to learn, and the youth inclined 
to teach. It gives rise to an intimate and happy relationship. 
She sees in him the creator of her mental life, and he sees 
in her a creature that owes her perfection, not to nature, not 
to chance, nor to any one-sided desire, but to a mutual will ; 
and this reciprocation is so sweet, that we cannot wonder, if 
from the days of the old and the new Abelard, the most 
violent passions, and equal weal and woe, have arisen from 
the intercourse of two such beings. 

The very next day a great commotion began in the city, 
on account of the visits which were now to be paid and 
returned with the greatest ceremony. But what particularly 
interested me, as a citizen of Frankfort, and caused me 
much thought, was the oath to keep the peace, taken by 
the council, the military, and the body of citizens, not 
through representatives, but personally, and in a body : 
first, in the great Romer Hall, by the magistracy and staff- 
officers; then in the great square, the Romerberg, by all 
the citizens, according to their respective ranks, grades, or 
quarters ; and lastly by the rest of the military. Here it 
was possible to survey the entire community at a glance, 
assembled for the honourable purpose of swearing to guard 
the Head and members of the Empire, and to keep un- 
broken peace during the great work now impending. The 
Electors of Treves and of Cologne had now also arrived in 



1762-65J ASSEMBLING OF THE ELECTORS 1 65 

person. On the evening before the Day of Election all 
strangers are sent out of the city, the gates are closed, 
the Jews are confined to their quarter, and the citizen of 
Frankfort prides himself not a little that he alone may be a 
witness of this solemn ceremony. 

All we had seen hitherto was comparatively modern ; 
persons of noble and even of the highest rank had only 
driven about in coaches; but now we were going to see 
them in the true ancient manner on horseback. The con- 
course and rush of people were extraordinary. I managed 
to squeeze my way through the Romer, which I knew as 
well as a mouse does its native corn-loft, till I reached the 
main entrance, where the Electors and ambassadors, after 
arriving in their state-coaches, and assembling above, were 
now to mount their horses. The stately, well-trained steeds 
were covered with rich laced trappings, and decorated in 
every possible way. The Elector Emmerich Joseph, a goodly 
' man, looked well on horseback. Of the other two I remem- 
ber less, except that we thought the princes' red mantles, 
trimmed with ermine, till then seen only in pictures, had 
quite a romantic look in the open air. The sight of the 
ambassadors of the absent temporal Electors, with their 
Spanish dresses of gold brocade, embroidered in gold, and 
trimmed with gold lace, pleased us too ; especially the large 
feathers magnificently waving from their hats, cocked in the 
antique style. But what I did not hke were the short 
modern breeches, the white silk stockings, and fashionable 
shoes. We should have liked half-boots — with any amount 
of gilt — sandals, or something of the kind, more consistent 
with the rest of the costume. 

By his behaviour the Ambassador von Plotho again stood 
out among all the rest. He looked lively and cheerful, and 
seemed to have no great respect for the whole ceremony. 
For when the man in front of him, an elderly gentleman, 
could not manage to mount at the first attempt, and so 
kept him waiting some time in the main entrance, he laughed 
quite openly, till his own horse was brought him, whereupon 
he swung himself very dexterously to the saddle, and again 
called forth our admiration as a most worthy representative 
of Frederick II. 

And now the curtain for us once more fell. I had 



1 66 POETRY AND TRUTH [part i. book v 

indeed tried to force my way into the church; but with 
more inconvenience than profit. The voters had withdrawn 
into the sanctum^ where endless ceremonies usurped the 
place of a serious deliberation over the election. After 
long delay, pressure, and bustle, the crowd at last heard 
the name of Joseph II., who was proclaimed King of the 
Romans. 

The throng of visitors pouring into the city increased 
daily. Everybody went about in holiday attire, so that at 
last nothing less than a whole suit of cloth of gold was thought 
worthy of note. The Emperor and the King had already 
arrived at Hmsenstamm^ a castle of the Counts of Schonborn, 
and were there greeted and welcomed in the customary 
manner ; but the city celebrated this important event by 
church festivals for all the creeds, by high masses and sermons ; 
and on the temporal side by incessant firing of salutes, by 
way of accompaniment to the Te Deums, 

If all these public ceremonies, from the beginning up 
to this point, were regarded in the light of a deliberately 
planned work of art, little fault could have been found with 
them. All had been well prepared. The public shows opened 
gradually, and went on increasing in importance ; the actors 
grew in number, the personages in dignity, their appurte- 
nances, as well as themselves, in splendour; and so the 
interest went on increasing from day to day, till at last even 
a forewarned, collected spectator might well have been 
bewildered. 

The arrival of the Elector of Mainz, which we have not 
wished to describe more fully, was magnificent and imposing 
enough to suggest to the imagination of an eminent writer, 
the advent of a great prophesied Ruler of the world; we too 
had been not a little dazzled by it. But now our expectation 
was stretched to the utmost, as it was said that the Emperor 
and the future King were approaching the city. At a little 
distance from Sachsenhausen, a tent had been erected, and 
here all the magistrates of the city assembled, to do 
appropriate homage and to proffer the keys of the city to 
the Head of the Empire. Some distance further, on a 
spacious plain, stood another — a state pavilion, to which the 
whole body of electoral princes and ambassadors repaired, 
while their retinues extended along the whole route, in 



1762-65] THE STATE PROCESSION 167 

readiness, as their turn came, to move once more in the 
direction of the city, and take their proper places in the 
procession. At this point the Emperor reached the tent, 
entered it, and the princes and ambassadors, after proferring 
him their most respectful welcome, withdrew, to prepare the 
way for their lord and sovereign. 

We others who had remained in the city, where all this 
pomp and pageantry would show off to greater advantage, 
within the compass of walls and streets, than it could have 
done in the open fields, for a while found plenty of enter- 
tainment in the barricades raised by the townsmen in the 
streets, in the throng of people, and in the various jests and 
improprieties natural to such a crowd, till the ringing of 
bells and the thunder of cannon announced the immediate 
approach of his Majesty. What must have been particularly 
gratifying to the inhabitants of Frankfort was, that on this 
occasion, in the presence of so many sovereigns and their 
representatives, the Imperial City of Frankfort also ranked 
as a lesser sovereign; for her equerry opened the pro- 
cession ; he was followed by chargers with armorial trappings, 
on which the white eagle on a red field stood out in fine 
relief; then came attendants and officials, drummers and 
trumpeters, and deputies of the council, accompanied by the 
clerks of the council, in the city livery, on foot. Immediately 
behind rode the three companies ofcity cavalry, on excellent 
mounts — the same that we had seen from our youth upwards 
at the reception of escorts and on other public occasions. 
We rejoiced in our participation in these honours, and in our 
himdred-thousandth part of a sovereignty which now shone 
out in its full brilliancy. The various suites of the Hereditary 
Imperial Marshal, and of the envoys deputed by the six 
Electors temporal, followed after in due turn. None of 
them consisted of less than twenty attendants and two state- 
carriages — some even of a greater number. The retinue 
of the Electors spiritual was ever on the increase,— their 
servants and domestic officers seemed innumerable — the 
Elector of Cologne and the Elector of Treves had more than 
twenty state carriages, and the Elector of Mainz quite as 
many to himself alone. The servants, both on horseback 
and on foot, were all most splendidly equipped; the lords 
spiritual and temporal, in their carriages, had not failed to 



l68 POETRY AND TRUTH [part i. book v 

appear in rich attire, suitable to the occasion, and adorned 
with all the badges of their orders. And now the train of 
his Imperial Majesty, as was but fitting, surpassed all the 
rest. The horsemen, the led horses, the equipment, the 
trappings and caparisons, attracted every eye, and the six- 
teen six-horse state-coaches of the Imperial Chamberlains, 
Privy Councillors, High Chamberlain, High Steward, and 
High Equerry, closed, with great pomp, this part of the 
procession, which, in spite of its magnificence and extent, 
was still only a mere van-guard. 

But now the procession grew more dense, while the 
pomp and show kept on increasing. For, in the midst of a 
picked escort of their own household attendants, most of 
them on foot, and a few on horseback, appeared the 
Electoral ambassadors as well as the Electors in person, in 
ascending ordef of rank^ each one in a magnificent state- 
carriage. Immediately behind the Elector of Mainz, 
ten Imperial footmen, one and forty lackeys, and eight 
Hungarian guards heralded their Majesties. The most 
magnificent state-carriage, even the back of which was one 
whole mirror, ornamented with paintings and carved work, 
lacquered and gilt, covered with red embroidered velvet 
on the top and in the inside, allowed us every opportunity 
of contemplating the Emperor and the King, those long- 
desired sovereigns, in all their glory. The procession took 
a long circuitous route, partly from necessity, in order to 
unfold its full length, and partly that it might be seen by a 
larger multitude of people. It passed through Sachsen- 
hausen, over the bridge, up the Fahrgasse, then down the 
Zeil, and turned towards the inner city through the Katha- 
rinenpforte^ formerly a gate, and since the enlargement of 
the city, an open thoroughfare. Here it had fortunately 
occurred to the masters of the ceremonies that for many years 
the world had gone on expanding both in height and breadth, 
in the magnificence of its outward show. Measurements 
were taken, and it was found that the present imperial state- 
carriage could not, without injury to its carved work and 
other decorations, get through this gateway, which in its day 
had seen so many princes and emperors pass in and out. 
The matter was debated, and to avoid an inconvenient 
detour, it was resolved to take up the pavement, and to 



1762-65] THE IMPERIAL CARRIAGE 169 

devise a gentle downward and upward slope. With the 
same object in view, they had also removed all the projecting 
eaves from the shops and booths in the street, that neither 
crown, nor eagle, nor the genii should receive any shock 
or injury. 

Eagerly as we directed our gaze to these great personages 
when this precious equipage with its precious contents 
approached us, we could not avoid turning our eyes upon 
the noble horses, their harness, and its embroidery ; but 
we were particularly struck by the strange coachmen and 
postilions, both astride upon the horses. They looked as 
if they had come from some other nation, or even from 
another world, with their long black and yellow velvet 
coats, and their caps with large feathered plumes, after the 
imperial court fashion. The crowd now became so dense 
that it was impossible to distinguish much more. The Swiss 
guard on both sides of the carriage, the Hereditary Marshal 
holding the Saxon sword upright in his right hand, the 
Field-Marshals, as leaders of the Imperial Guard, riding 
behind the carriage, the Imperial pages in a body, apd last 
of all, the Imperial State Bodyguard itself, in antique 
black velvet cloaks, the seams richly trimmed with gold, 
under which were red doublets and leather - coloured 
jerkins, also heavily laced with gold ! The mere effort of 
looking, showing, and pointing out was almost overpowering, 
so that the bodyguards of the Electors, though barely 
inferior in splendour, passed almost unheeded, and we should 
perhaps have left the windows, but for the sake of seeing our 
own magistracy, who closed the procession in their fifteen 
double-horse coaches, and particularly the Clerk of the 
Council, with the city keys on red velvet cushions. That 
our company of city grenadiers should cover the rear, 
seemed to us sufficient honour, and we felt highly and 
doubly edified as Germans and as men of Frankfort by this 
red-letter day. 

We had taken our place in a house which the procession 
would have to pass again when it returned from the cathedral. 
There was such an amoimt of religious services, of music, of 
rites and ceremonies, of. addresses and answers, of speeches 
and readings, to be got through in church, choir, and 
conclave, before it came to the swearing of the articles of 



170 POETRY AND TRUTH [part i. book v 

election, that we had time enough to partake of an excellent 
lunch, and to empty many botties to the health of our old 
and of our young ruler. The conversation, in the mean- 
while, as is usual on such occasions, reverted to past times, 
and several of the aged members of our party declared these 
to be superior to the present day, at least as regards a certain 
power of human interest and impassioned sympathy which 
then prevailed. At the coronation of Francis the First 
things had not been as settled as they were now ; peace 
had not yet been concluded; France and the Electors 
of Brandenburg and the Palatinate were opposed to the 
election ; the troops of the future emperor were stationed 
at Heidelberg, where he had his head-quarters, and the 
insignia of the Empire coming from Aix, were almost carried 
off by the inhabitants of the Palatinate. Meanwhile nego- 
tiations went on, and neither side took the matter very 
seriously. Maria Theresa, though she was then with 
child, came in person to see her husband's coronation, which 
was at last effected. She arrived at Aschaffenburg, and went 
on board a yacht in order to repair to Frankfort. Francis^ 
coming from Heidelberg, expects to meet his wife, but comes 
too late ; she has already left. Unknown, he throws himself 
into a little boat, hastens after her, reaches her ship, and 
the loving pair rejoice at this surprising meeting. The story 
spreads immediately, and all the world sympathizes with 
these devoted hearts, so richly blessed with children, who 
have been so inseparable since their union, that once on a 
journey from Vienna to Florence they were forced to keep 
quarantine together on the Venetian border. Maria Theresa 
is welcomed in the city with rejoicings, she enters the inn 
of the Roman Emperor ^ while a great tent for her husband's 
reception is erected on the Bornheim Heath. Of the Electors 
spiritual only Mainz is present, and of the ambassadors of 
the Electors temporal, only Saxony, Bohemia, and Hanover. 
The state-entry begins, and any lack of completeness and 
splendour is richly compensated by the presence of a beau- 
tiful lady. She stands upon the balcony of the house, 
well-situated on the route, and greets her husband with 
acclamations and clapping of hands; and the people join 
in, excited to the highest pitch of enthusiasm. As the greatest 
are, after all, but men, the ordinary citizen, when he wishes 



1762-65] THE LANDGRAVE OF DARMSTADT 171 

to love them, thinks of them as his equals, and that he can 
best do when he can picture them to himself as loving 
husbands, tender parents, devoted brothers, and true friends. 
All happiness had been wished and prophesied on that occa- 
sion and had been fulfilled this day in their first-born son, 
whose handsome, youthful figure captured every heart, and 
whose noble qualities had excited the world's highest hopes. 

We had become quite absorbed in the past and future, 
when the arrival of some friends recalled us* to the present. 
They were of those who know the value of a piece of news, 
and are therefore eager to be the first to announce it. They 
had come to tell us of a fine humane trait in those exalted 
personages whom we had just seen go by in all their pomp. 
It had been concerted that on the way, between Heusen- 
stamm and the great tent, the Emperor and the King should 
meet the Landgrave of Darmstadt in the forest. This old 
prince, now drawing near to the grave, longed to see once 
more the master to whom he had been devoted in earlier 
days. Both could remember the day when- the Landgrave 
brought over to Heidelberg the Electors' decree choosing 
Francis as Emperor, and replied to the valuable presents 
he received with protestations of unalterable devotion. The 
noble visitors stood in a grove of firs, and the Landgrave, 
weak with age, had to support himself against a pine, to 
be able to continue a conversation, which could not be 
carried on without emotion on both sides. The place was 
afterwards marked by a modest memorial, and we young 
folk used to stroll there on our walks. 

We had in this way spent several hours calling up 
memories of the old and speculating on the new, when the 
procession^ now curtailed and more compact, again passed 
before us, and we were able to observe and mark details 
more closely, and stamp them more firmly in our memories 
for the future. 

From that moment the city was in one continuous stir ; 
for until every one whom it behoved, and of Tvhom it was 
required, had paid their respects to the highest dignitaries, and 
presented themselves one after the other, there was no end 
to the passing and repassing, till we could have repeated 
with our eyes shut the details of the court dress of each of 
the notabilities present. 



172 POETRY AND TRUTH [part i. book v 

Now^ too, the insignia of the Empire arrived. But that 
no ancient usage might be omitted even in this respect, they 
had to remain the whole half-day till late at night in the 
open field, on account of a dispute about territory and 
escort between the Elector of Mainz and the city. The 
latter yielded, the people of Mainz escorted the insignia 
as far as the barricade, and so the affair was settled for 
this time. 

In these days I had no time to myself. At home I had 
to write and copy ; every sight was to be seen ; and so the 
month of March, the second half of which had been so rich 
in festivities for us, drew to a close. I had promised Gretchen 
a faithful and complete account of what had lately happened, 
and of what was to be expected on the Coronation Day. 
This great day was drawing near; I thought more how I 
shoula tell it to her than of what there was exactly to be 
told ; I worked up a rapid sketch of everything that came 
under ray eyes or to my pen for this sole and immediate 
purpose. At l^st I reached her house, rather late one even- 
ing, and was not a little proud to think how my narrative 
on this occasion would be much more successful than the 
first unprepared one. But an unexpected occasion often 
brings us, and others through us, more joy than the most 
deliberate purpose can afford. I found, indeed, very nearly 
the same company, with the addition of one or two strangers. 
They sat down to play, all except Gretchen and her younger 
cousin, who stopped with me by the slate. The dear child 
told us charmingly how delighted she had been, that she, 
though a stranger, had been taken for a citizen on the 
Election Day, and so had been able to have her share in 
that unique spectacle. She thanked me most warmly for 
having thought of her, and for having been so kind as to 
procure her, through Pylades, admission to all kinds of 
ceremonies, by means of tickets and orders, or by the help 
of friends and introductions. 

She was delighted to hear me talk about the jewels of 
the Empire. I promised her that we should^ if possible, 
see these together. She made one or two jesting remarks 
when she learned that the garments and crown had been 
actually tried on the young King. I had already settled 
where she should go to watch the ceremonies on Coronation 



1762-65] AN EVENING WITH GRETCHEN 1 73 

Day, and prepared her for everything that was impending, 
and particularly for those things which would be well seen 
from her position. 

In such talk we forgot to think about the time ; it was 
already past midnight ; and I found that unfortunately I had 
not the house-key with me ; so that I should not be able to 
get into the house without making a great disturbance. I 
told her of my difficulty. " After all," she said, " it will be 
best not to break up the party." The cousins had already 
had the same idea, because they did not know where 
to put up their visitors for the night So the matter was 
soon settled; Gretchen brought in and lighted a large 
brass lamp, well supplied with oil and wick, because the 
candles threatened to burn out, and then went to make 
some coffee. 

This helped to keep our spirits up for several hours, but 
the game gradually slackened ; conversation died away ; the 
mother went to sleep in the armchair ; the strangers, tired 
out with travelling, nodded, and Pylades and his sweetheart 
sat together in a comer. She had laid her head on his 
shoulder and had gone to sleep, and he soon followed her 
example. The younger cousin sitting opposite to us by the 
slate, had crossed his arms before him on the table, rested 
his head on them and gone to sleep. I sat in the window- 
comer, behind the table, and Gretchen by me. We talked 
in a low voice : but at last sleep overcame her also, she 
leaned her head on my shoulder, and sank at once to 
slumber. Thus I was left in this strange position, the only 
one awake, but death's kind brother soon closed my eyelids 
too. I went to sleep, and when I awoke it was already 
bright daylight. Gretchen was standing before the mirror 
arranging her httle cap ; she looked more lovely than ever, 
and gave me a cordial hand-shake as I left. I crept home 
by a round-about way ; for, on the side of the house which 
looked on the Little Hirschgrabeny my father had opened a 
sort of peep-hole in the wall, not without opposition from his 
neighbour. So we took care to avoid this side if we wanted 
not to be seen by him as we came home. My mother, who 
had always interceded on our behalf, had tried to excuse 
my absence in the morning at breakfast, by suggesting 
that I had gone out early, and I was able to escape any 



174 POETRY AND TRUTH [part i. book v 

disagreeable consequences from the innocent pleasures of 
the night. 

Taken as a whole, this infinitely varied life which sur- 
rounded me, produced on me but a very simple impression. 
I had no other interest but to closely observe outward 
events, no other business but that laid upon me by my 
father and Herr von Konigsthal, which, indeed, did help 
me to some knowledge of the hidden causes of events. 
I had no liking but for Gretchen, and no other object than 
to see and understand everything properly, that I might be 
able to repeat it and explain it to her. Often when a pro- 
cession was going by, I described it to myself in an under- 
tone, to make sure of all the particulars, so that I might win 
the praise of my lady-love by this care and accuracy ; the 
applause and acknowledgments of others were compara- 
tively unimportant to me. 

I had certainly been introduced to many great and dis- 
tinguished persons; but no one had then time to trouble 
about others, and besides, older people do not at once 
know how to talk to a. young man and draw him out. Nor 
was I, on my side, particularly skilful in adapting myself in 
society. As a rule, I acquired their liking, but not their 
approval. My occupation for the moment always engrossed 
me completely ; but I did not trouble to ask whether others 
would find it equally to their taste. I was for the most part 
too lively or too quiet, seeming either importunate or sullen, 
according to the degree in which persons attracted or repelled 
me ; so they considered me to be indeed full of promise, but 
at the same time most eccentric. 

The Coronation Day dawned at last, on the 3rd of April, 
1764; the weather was favourable, and the whole town was 
astir. I and several of my friends and relatives had been 
provided with a good place in one of the upper storeys of 
the Romer itself, where we had a complete view of the 
whole. We were on the spot very early in the morning, 
and from our raised position enjoyed a bird's-eye view of 
the preparations, which we had inspected at closer quarters 
the day before. Here was the newly-erected fountain, with 
two large basins left and right, into which the double-eagle 
on its pedestal was to pour from its two beaks white wine on 
one side and red on the other. There, gathered in a heap, 



1762-65I THE CORONATION DAY 1 75 

lay the oats; here stood the large wooden hut, where 
several days ago we had seen a whole fat ox roasted and 
basted on a huge spit before a charcoal fire. All en- 
trances and exits to the Romer were secured on both sides 
by barriers and guards. The great square gradually filled, 
and the swaying and pressure of the crowd grew stronger 
every moment, as everybody strove their hardest to reach 
any spot where some new spectacle was to be seen or some- 
thing seemed about to happen. 

All this time a tolerable stillness reigned, so that the 
sound of the alarm-bell seemed to strike every one with 
awe and amazement. What first attracted the attention of 
all who could overlook the square was the procession of the 
lords of Aix and Nuremberg carrying the crown-jewels to 
the cathedral. These, as palladia, had the place of honour 
in the carriage, and the deputies sat before them on the 
back seat with becoming reverence. At this moment the 
three Electors entered the cathedral. After the presentation 
of the insignia to the Elector of Mainz, the crown and 
sword were immediately carried to the Emperor's quarters. 
In the intervening space of time the chief actors in the 
pageant and the spectators in the church were, as we initi- 
ated were well aware, busily occupied in all kinds of intro- 
ductory proceedings and ceremonies. 

In the meanwhile we watched the ambassadors drive up 
to the Romer, whence the canopy is carried by under- 
officers to the imperial quarters. The Hereditary Marshal 
Count von Pappenheim instantly springs into the saddle ; 
a shght, fine-looking figure of a man, well set off by his 
Spanish costume^ rich doublet, gold mantle, high feathered 
hat, and loosely flowing hair. He leads the way, and, amid 
the pealing of all the bells, the ambassadors follow him on 
horseback to the Emperor's quarters in still greater state 
than on the Election Day. We would fain follow them, for 
on such a day as this it would be well to be ubiquitous. 
But we must perforce content ourselves with telling one 
another what is going on there. Now the Emperor is 
putting on his hereditary robes, we said, a new robe, made 
after the old Carolingian pattern. The hereditary officers 
receive the insignia, and mount their horses. The Emperor 
in his robes, the King of the Romans in his Spanish dress, 



1/6 POETRY AND TRUTH [part i. book v 

mount too without delay, and in the meanwhile the end- 
less procession which precedes them already heralds their 
approach. 

The multitude of richly-dressed attendants and magis- 
trates, the stately throng of nobles riding by, were already 
strain enough upon the sight; but when the Electoral 
envoys, the hereditary officers, and last of all, under the 
richly broidered canopy, borne by twelve judges and sena- 
tors, the Emperor himself, in picturesque attire, and to the 
left, a little behind him, his son, in Spanish dress, swept 
majestically by on magnificently caparisoned horses, the 
sight was completely overwhelming. One would have liked 
to arrest the pageant for a moment, by some magic spell ; 
but the splendour passed on without a pause, and immedi- 
ately in its wake the crowd poiwed in like a surging sea. 

But now there was a rush in a new direction ; for 
another passage from the market to the Romer was to be 
opened, and a bridge of planks to be constructed, on 
which the procession was to pass on its return from the 
cathedral. 

An account of what passed within the minster itself, of 
the endless ceremonies which precede and accompany the 
anointing, the crowning, and the conferring of knighthood, 
was afterwards given us in full by those who had sacrificed 
much else in order to be present in the church. 

The rest of us, meanwhile, had a frugal meal where we 
sat ; for on this most festal day of our lives we had to be 
contented with cold meat. But, then, the best and oldest 
wine had been brought out of all the family-cellars, so that 
in this respect at least we celebrated the ancient festival in 
proper ancient style. 

In the square, the sight now most worth seeing was the 
bridge, which had been finished, and covered with white 
and orange cloth ; and we who had gazed upon the Emperor, 
first in his carriage and then on horseback, were now to 
admire him on foot. Strangely enough, this was the sight 
to which we looked forward most; for we thought that 
on foot he would look not only most natural, but most 
dignified too. 

Older persons, who were present at the coronation of 
Francis the First, told how Maria Theresa, beautiful beyond 



1762-65] THE CORONATION PROCESSION \^^ 

measure, had looked on at this solemn ceremony from a 
balcony window of the Frauenstein house, close to the 
Romer. As her consort returned from the cathedral in his 
strange garb, appearing to her like Charlemagne come to 
life again, he had, as if in jest, raised both hands, and shown 
her the imperial globe, the sceptre, and the curious gloves, 
at which she had broken out into immoderate laughter, 
much to the delight and edification of the crowd, thus 
honoured with a glimpse of the warm, natural affection 
which bound the most illustrious couple in Christendom. 
But when the Empress, to greet her consort, waved her 
handkerchief, and even shouted a loud hurrah, the enthu- 
siasm and exultation of the people rose to the highest pitch, 
and their joyful cheering knew no bounds. 

And now the clang of bells, and the van of the long 
train slowly wending over the gaily coloured bridge, told 
us that all was over. The strain of attention was greater 
than before, and the procession more distinctly visible, par- 
ticularly for us, since it now came directly towards us. We 
could see it, as well as the whole of the square, which was 
thronged with people, almost as if on a ground-plan. Only 
towards the close of the procession its splendours seemed 
to press too close on one another ; for the envoys, the here- 
ditary officers, the Emperor and King, under the canopy, 
the three Electors spiritual immediately following, the jury- 
men and senators, dressed in black, the gold embroidered 
canopy, — ^all seemed as one mass, animated by one will, in 
splendid harmony, and as it stepped from the church amid 
the peal of bells, it shone in our eyes with the glory of holiness. 

A ceremony at once religious and political possesses an 
infinite charm. We behold earthly majesty surrounded by 
all the attributes of its power ; but as it bows before that of 
heaven, it serves to remind us that here the two are one. 
For even the individual can only prove his relationship with 
the Deity by subjecting himself and adoring. 

The rejoicings, which resounded from the market-place, 
now spread over the great square, and a boisterous cheer 
burst from thousands upon thousands of throats, and doubt- 
less from as many hearts. For this grand festival was to be 
the pledge of a lasting peace, with which Germany was 
indeed actually blessed for many a long year to come. 

VOL. I. N 



173 POETRY AND TRUTH [part i. book v 

Several days before, it had been made known by public 
proclamation, that neither the bridge nor the eagle over the 
fountain were to be accessible to the people, and were not 
therefore, as at other times, to be touched. This was done 
to prevent the mischief inevitable in such vast crowds. 
But in order to sacrifice in some degree to the genius of 
the mob, persons expressly appointed went behind the 
procession, loosened the cloth from the bridge, wound it up 
in lengths, and threw it into the air. This gave rise, not 
indeed to a disaster, but to a laughable mishap; for the 
cloth unrolled itself in the air, and, as it fell, covered a con- 
siderable number of persons. Those who then had hold of 
the ends pulled at them, and so dragged those in the middle 
to the ground, smothering them and teasing them till they 
tore or cut themselves free, and everybody, in one way or 
another, had borne off a fragment of the stuff which had 
been hallowed by the footsteps of Majesty. 

I did not stop to watch this rude sport long, but hurried 
from my high window by all kinds of little steps and passages, 
to the great Romer stairs, up which the noble throng we 
had been gazing at from a distance was now to pass on its 
majestic way. The crowd was not great, because the 
entrances to the Town Hall were well garrisoned, so I had 
no difficulty in reaching the iron balustrades above. Here 
all the grandees passed by me, while their followers remained 
below in the vaulted passages, and I could observe them on 
the three flights of stairs from all sides, and at last quite close. 

Finally both their Majesties came up. Father and son 
looked like Menaechmi in their dress. The Emperor's 
hereditary robes, of purple silk, richly studded with pearls and 
stones, as well as his crown, sceptre, and imperial orb, were 
delightful to the eye. For all in them was new, and the 
imitation of the antique in perfect taste. He moved, too, 
quite at ease in his attire, and his noble-hearted, dignified 
expression revealed at once the emperor and the father. 
The young King, on the contrary, in his overpowering garb, 
bearing the crown-jewels of Charlemagne, dragged himself 
along as if he were wearing some disguise, so that he him- 
self, looking at his father from time to time, could not 
refrain from smiling. The crown, in spite of a consider- 
able amount of lining, stood out from his head like an 



1762-65] CORONATION CEREMONIES 179 

overhanging pent-house. The dalmatica and the stole, much 
as they had been fitted and taken in, still showed his figure 
to no great advantage. The sceptre and imperial orb excited 
some admiration ; but it must be admitted, that, with a 
view to majestic effect, one would have preferred to see 
these garments investing and adorning a broader figure 
better adapted to their size. 

Scarcely had the gates of the great hall closed behind 
these great ones, than I hurried to my former place, which I 
found taken by others, and had some trouble in regaining. 

I came back to my window just in time ; for the most 
remarkable part of all that was to be seen in public was just 
about to take place. All the people had turned towards the 
Romer, and reiterated cheers gave us to understand that 
Emperor and King, in their vestments, were showing them- 
selves to the populace from the balcony of the great hall. 
But they were not to be the only spectacle, for another and 
a stranger one was enacted before their eyes. First of all, 
the Hereditary Marshal, slim and handsome, flung himself 
upon his steed ; he had laid aside his sword ; in his right 
hand he held a silver-handled vessel, and a tin spatula in his 
left. He rode within the barriers into the middle of the great 
heap of oats, filled the vessel to overflowing, pressed it down, 
and carried it back again with great dignity. And thus the 
imperial stable was provided for. Next the Hereditary 
Chamberlain rode to the spot, and brought back a basin 
with ewer and towel. But more entertaining for the 
spectators was the Hereditary Carver, who came to fetch a 
piece of the roasted ox. He also rode, with a silver dish, 
through the barriers to the large wooden kitchen, came out 
again with his covered dish, and so back to the Romer. 
Now it was the turn of the Hereditary Cup-bearer, who rode 
to the foimtain and fetched wine. The imperial table was 
now furnished, and every eye waited upon the Hereditary 
Treasurer, who was to throw out the money. He, too, rode 
a fine steed, and from the saddle hung, instead of holsters, 
a couple of splendid bags embroidered with the arms of the 
Palatinate. As soon as he started, he plunged his hands into 
these pockets, and scattered generously right and left gold and 
silver coins, and each shower glittered brightly in the air like 
metallic rain. Instantly a thousand hands waved in the air to 



l80 POETRY AND TRUTH [part i. book v 

catch these bounties ; but hardly had the money struck the 
ground, than the crowd tumbled oyer each other, struggling 
violently for any coins which might have fallen at their 
feet. And this fight, constantly renewed on either side 
as the giver rode forward, afforded to the spectators a 
most amusing sight. It was most lively at the close, when 
he threw out the bags themselves, and everybody tried to 
catch this highest prize of all. 

Their Majesties had withdrawn from the balcony, and 
further offerings were now to be made to the mob, who, on 
such' occasions, would rather steal the gifts than receive 
them quietly and gratefully. The custom prevailed, in 
ruder and more uncouth times, of handing over the oats at 
once to the crowd, as soon as the Hereditary Marshal had 
taken away his share, and the perquisites of the fountain 
and the kitchen, after the cup-bearer and the carver had 
performed their offices. But this time, to guard against all 
mischief, order and moderation were preserved as far as 
possible. But this did not prevent the revival of such old- 
standing jokes as that when one filled a sack with oats 
another cut a hole in it, with other sallies of the kind. As 
usual, a serious battle was being waged around the roasted 
ox. This could only be contested en masse. Two guilds, 
the butchers and the vintners, had, according to ancient 
custom, stationed themselves so that the monstrous roast 
must fall to one or the other of them. The butchers 
maintained they had the best right to an ox which they 
had provided entire for the kitchen f the vintners, on the 
other hand, laid claim to it because the kitchen was built 
near the quarters of their guild, and because they had 
gained the victory the last time, the horns of the captured 
steer still projecting from the latticed gable-window of their 
guild and meeting-house as a trophy of their victory. Both 
companies had very strong and able members ; but which 
of them conquered this time, I can no longer remember. 

But as a festival of this kind must always close with 
something dangerous and terrifying, here the frightful 
moment came, when the wooden kitchen itself was made 
the prize. Its roof instantly swarmed with men, as by a 
miracle. Boards were torn loose, and pitched down, so 
that it looked, particularly at a distance, as if each must kill 



1762-65] CORONATION BANQUET 181 

someone in the crowd surging round the spot. In a trice 
the hut was unroofed, and men hung here and there to the 
beams and rafters, in order to pull them, too, out of their 
joints; nay, many still swayed above on planks of which 
the posts had been already sawn off from below, and the 
whole skeleton, as it swung backwards and forwards, 
threatened an imminent collapse. Sensitive persons turned 
their eyes away, and everybody expected a terrible accident ; 
but we heard no such report, and the whole affair, though 
fierce and violent, seems to have passed off happily. 

Everybody knew that now the Emperor and the King 
would return from the private room to which they had 
retired from the balcony, in order to banquet in the great 
hall of the Romer. We had had the opportunity of 
admiring the arrangements made for it the day before : and 
I was most anxious, if possible, to catch a glimpse of it 
to-day. So I returned by my usual way to the great stair- 
case, which stands directly opposite the entrance door. 
Here I gazed with astonishment on the distinguished men 
who this day acted as servants of the Head of the Empire. 
Forty-four counts, all splendidly attired, passed me, carry- 
ing dishes from the kitchen, so that the contrast between 
their dignity and their occupation might well be bewildering 
to a boy. The crowd was not great, but, considering the 
small space, perceptible enough. The hall- door was 
guarded, but those authorized were continually going in 
and out. I caught sight of one of the Palatine house- 
stewards, and I asked him whether he could not take me in 
with him. He did not hesitate long, but gave me one of the 
silver vessels he was carrying, which he could do all the 
more readily as I was neatly clad ; and in this way I found 
access into the sanctuary. The Palatine side-board stood 
to the left, directly by the door, and in a step or two I had 
taken up my position on. its platform, behind the barriers. 

At the other end of the hall, immediately by the windows, 
on raised seats, under canopies, the Emperor and the King 
sat enthroned in their robes; but the crown and sceptre 
lay some way behind them on gold cushions. The three 
Electors spiritual, their side-boards behind them, had taken 
their places on separate daises ; the Elector of Mainz oppo- 
site their Majesties, the Elector of Treves on the right, and 



1 82 POETRY AND TRUTH [part i. book v 

the Elector of Cologne on the left. This upper part of the 
hall presented an imposing and cheerful scene, and led me 
to make the observation that the spiritual power prefers 
to keep by the sovereign as long as possible. On the other 
hand, the side-boards and tables of all the Electors temporal, 
which were, indeed, magnificently ornamented, but un- 
occupied, called to memory the misunderstanding which 
had subsisted for centuries between them and the Head 
of the Empire. Their ambassadors had already withdrawn 
to eat in a side-chamber; and if the fact that so many 
invisible guests were being so magnificently waited on 
gave to the greater part of the hall a somewhat spectral 
appearance, a large unfurnished table in the middle was 
still more sad to look upon; for there, too, many empty 
covers showed that many who had a perfect right to sit 
there had, for propriety's sake, kept away, lest on this 
great day of honour any slight should be put upon their 
honour, if, indeed, they were by that time still to be found 
within the walls of the city. 

Neither my age nor the mass of objects present to 
my view were conducive to many reflections. I did my 
best to take in the whole scene ; and when the dessert was 
brought in and the ambassadors returned to pay their 
homage, I sought the open air and refreshment with good 
friends in the neighbourhood, after the day's short commons, 
so as to prepare for the illumination in the evening. 

I had made arrangements to celebrate this brilliant 
night right merrily; for I had agreed with Gretchen, and 
Pylades and his lady-love, that we should meet somewhere 
at nightfall. The city was already resplendent in every 
hole and corner when I met my beloved Gretchen. I 
offered her my arm ; we strolled from one part to another, 
and were perfectly happy in each other's society. The 
cousins at first were of our party too, but soon got lost in 
the crowd. Before the houses of some of the ambassadors, 
flaring with magnificent illuminations (and those of the 
Elector-Palatine were particularly splendid), the night was 
as bright as day. Lest I should be recognized, I had 
disguised myself to a certain extent, and Gretchen did not 
find it amiss. We admired the various brilliant shows and 
fairy-like fabrics of flame by which each ambassador strove 



1762-65] THE ILLUMINATIONS 183 

to outshine the others. But Prince Esterhazy's devices 
surpassed all the rest. Our little party were in raptures 
both with the plan and its execution, and we were about 
to enjoy examining it in detail, when the cousins met us 
again and told us of the glorious illumination with which 
the Brandenburg ambassador had adorned his quarters. 
We were not at all sorry to go all the long way from the 
Horse-market to the Saalhof; but found that we had been 
impudently hoaxed. 

The Saalhof y on the side of the Maine, is a regular, 
handsome building, but the side which faces the city is 
very old, irregular, and unimpressive. Small windows, cor- 
responding neither in shape nor size, neither on the same 
level nor at equal distances, tmsymmetrical gates and doors, 
a ground-floor for the most part turned into shops, — it 
presents a confused exterior, which is disregarded by every- 
one. Now here this accidental, irregular, unconnected mass 
of architecture had been outlined in detail, and every window, 
every door, every opening, was framed in lamps ; such a thing 
is possible with a well-built house; but here this most inartistic 
and misshaped of fagades was, by this injudicious plan, 
made to stand out in the brightest glare. It was possible, 
perhaps, to be amused at it, as at a clown's jests, yet even 
then not unreservedly, since it was obvious to everyone 
that the device was not quite unintentional, — ^just as we 
had before glossed over the outward behaviour of our 
otherwise highly esteemed von Plotho, and having once 
admitted him into our favour, admired even the rogue in 
him, considering him as one who, hke his sovereign, could 
dispense with all formalities — still, in spite of these con- 
siderations, it was far preferable to get back to Esterhazy's 
fain^ kingdom. 

y^his eminent envoy, to honour the day, had discarded 
his own unfavourably situated quarters, and in their stead 
had had the great esplanade of Hme-trees in the Horse- 
market decorated in front with an illuminated gateway 
in many colours, and at the back with a still more magni- 
ficent device. The entire enclosure was outlined in lamps. 
Between the trees stood pyramids and spheres of light, 
upon transparent pedestals; from one tree to another 
stretched glittering garlands, from which swung hanging 



1 84 POETRY AND TRUTH [part I. book v 

lanterns. In several places bread and sausages were 
distributed among the people, and there was no lack of 
wine. 

Here we strolled pleasantly, four abreast, and I, by 
Gretchen's side, felt that I was wandering in those happy 
Elysian fields where from the trees they pluck crystal cups 
that immediately fill with the desired wine, and shake down 
fruits that change to the recipient's will. At last we too 
began to feel the need of such, and, led by Pylades, we found 
a very comfortable eating-house. We were all the better 
pleased to find we were the only guests, for everybody was out 
and about the streets, and we passed the greater part of the 
night most happily and merrily in feelings of tender friend- 
ship and love. I escorted Gretchen as far as her door, and 
she kissed me on the forehead. It was the first and last 
time that she granted me this favour; for, alas, I was 
never to see her again. 

The next morning, while I was yet in bed, my mother 
entered, anxious and troubled. It was easy to see when she 
was at all distressed. ** Get up," she said, " and prepare for 
something unpleasant. It has come out that you frequent 
very bad company, and have got involved in very dangerous 
and disreputable affairs. Your father is beside himself, and 
we have only been able to obtain thus much from him, that 
he will have the matter looked into by a third party. Keep 
to your room, and wait for what will happen. Councillor 
Schneider" will come to you ; he is the man commissioned 
both by your father and by the authorities ; for the matter is 
already in the lawyer's hands, and may take a very bad turn." 

I saw that they thought the matter far worse than it was ; 
yet felt not a little uneasy, even if they discovered nothing 
more than the actual state of things. My old Messiah- 
loving friend at last came in to me, tears standing in his 
eyes ; he took me by the arm, and said, " I am heartily 
grieved to come to you on such an errand. I could never 
have imagined you could go so far astray. But what will 
not wicked companions and bad example do ! Thus can 
a young and inexperienced man be led step by step to 
crime ! " *^ I am conscious of no crime," I replied, " and 
just as little of having frequented bad company." " It is not 
now a question of self-defence," he interrupted me, "but 



1762-65] GOETHE IN TROUBLE 1 8$ 

of investigation, and on your part of upright confession." 
" What do you want to know ? " I retorted. He sat down, 
drew out a paper, and began to question me : " Have you 
not recommended N. N. to your grandfather as a candidate 
for the post of * * ? " '' Yes," I replied. " Where did you 
become acquainted with him?" *^0n my walks." "In 
what company ? " I started : for I was unwilling to betray 
my friends. " Silence is useless now," he continued, " for 
quite enough is already known." " What is known then ? " 
I asked. " That this man has been introduced to you by 
others like him — in fact, by * * *." Here he named three 
persons whom I had never seen nor known : and this I 
immediately explained. " You pretend," he resumed, " not 
to know these men, and yet have had frequent meetings 
with them." "Not at all," I replied; "for, as I have 
said, I do not know one of them, with the exception of the 
first, and even him I have never seen in a house." " Have 
you not often been in * * * street ? " " Never," I replied. 
This was not strictly true. I had once accompanied 
Pylades on a visit to his sweetheart, who lived in that 
street ; but we had entered by the back-door, and remained 
in the summer-house. I therefore presumed that I might 
permit myself the subterfuge of stating that I had not been 
in the street itself. 

The good man put more questions, all of which I could 
answer in the negative : for of all the points on which he 
wished for information I knew nothing. At last he said, in 
apparent vexation, "You repay my confidence and good- 
will very indifferently; I come to save you. You cannot 
deny that you have composed letters for these people them- 
selves or for their accomplices, have supplied them with 
writings, and have thus been accessory to their evil acts ; for 
it is a question of nothing less than forged papers, false wills, 
counterfeit bonds, and crimes of that nature. I come not 
only as a friend of the family, I come in the name and by 
order of the magistrates, who, in consideration of your 
connections and of your youth, would spare you and some 
other young men, who, like you, have been lured into the 
snare." It was strange to me that the names of the persons 
with whom I had been intimate did not occur among those 
he mentioned. The circumstances were not identical, though 



1 86 . POETRY AND TRUTH [part i. bcx)K v 

they had points in common ; and I could still hope to save 
my young friends. But the good man grew more and more 
urgent. I could not deny that I had come home late many 
nights, that I had contrived to have a house-key made, that 
I had been seen at public places more than once with 
persons of low rank and suspicious appearance, that some 
girls were mixed up in the affair • in short, everything seemed 
to be discovered but the names. This gave me courage to 
persist steadfastly in my silence. " Do not send me from 
you," said my worthy friend, " the affair allows of no delay ; 
I shall be immediately followed by others, who will not 
grant you so much latitude. Do not make the matter, which 
is bad enough, worse by your obstinacy," 

Now I called up vividly before my mind the picture of 
the cousins, and of Gretchen in particular : I saw them 
arrested, tried, punished, disgraced, and then it went through 
me like a flash of lightning, that the cousins, though they 
were always scrupulously honest with me, might have 
engaged in such bad ways, at least the oldest, whom I never 
cared for much, who used to come home the latest, and 
then could give but a poor account of himself. Still I kept 
back my confession. " For myself," I said, " I am conscious 
of no crime, and can fee! perfectly at ease on that score ; but it 
is not impossible that those with whom I have associated may 
have been guilty of some daring or illegal act. Let them 
be sought, found, convicted, punished; I have hitherto 
nothing to reproach myself with; and will not do any 
wrong to those who have behaved well and kindly by me." 
He did not let me finish, but exclaimed with some agitation, 
"Yes, they will be traced. These villains met in three 
houses. (He named the streets, he pointed out the houses, 
and, unfortunately, among them was the one which I was 
accustomed to frequent.) The first nest is already broken 
up, and by this time so are the two others. In a few hours 
the whole will be cleared up. Avoid, by a frank confession, 
a judicial inquiry, an appearance in court, and all other such 
unsavoury proceedings." The house then was known and 
marked. It seemed useless to keep silence now; rather, by ex- 
plaining the innocent character of our meetings, I could hope 
to be still more useful to them than to myself. " Sit down," 
I exclaimed, fetching him back from the door ; " I will tell 



1762-65] GOETHE'S DISTRESS 1 87 

all, and remove a weight at once from your heart and mine ; 
but I ask one thing ; let there be no further doubt of my 
veracity." 

I soon informed my friend of the whole course of affairs, 
and was, at first, calm and collected ; but as I brought to 
mind and pictured to myself persons, objects, and events, and 
had to confess to so many innocent pleasures and charming 
enjoyments, as if before a criminal court, my feelings grew 
more and more painful, till at last I burst into tears and 
gave way to unrestrained emotion. Our family friend, who 
hoped that now the real secret was coming to light (for he 
regarded my distress as a symptom that I was on the point 
of reluctantly confessing some monstrous crime), did his 
best to pacify me, for with him the discovery was the 
all-important matter; and at last succeeded so far, that I 
managed to stammer out my story to the end. Though 
satisfied of the innocence of our meetings, he was still some- 
what doubtful, and put further questions to me, which 
excited me afresh, so that I was beside myself with pain 
and anger, I asserted, finally, that I had nothing more to 
say, and was well assured I had nothing to fear, for I was 
innocent, of a good family and unblemished name; but 
that my friends might be just as guiltless, without their 
innocence being recognized, nor any favour shown them. I 
declared at the same time, that if they were not spared like 
myself, if their follies were not regarded with indulgence, 
and their faults pardoned, if anything in any way harsh 
or unjust befell them, no one should prevent me from 
avenging their injuries on my own person. Here, too, my 
friend tried to reassure me; but I did not trust him, and 
when at last he left me, I was in a deplorable condition. I 
now reproached myself for having revealed anything or 
thrown any light on the state of affairs. I foresaw that our 
childish actions, our youthful tastes and confidences, might 
be quite misinterpreted, and that I might perhaps have 
involved my worthy friend Py lades in the matter, and caused 
him much misery. These considerations pressed so over- 
whelmipgly upon me, and so sharpened the edge of my 
distress, that I was half-maddened with grief. I threw 
myself full length upon the floor, and bedewed it with my 
tears. 



1 88 POETRY AND TRUTH [part I. book v 

I do not know how long I may have been lying there, 
when my sister entered, and, terrified at my violence, did all 
she could to raise rae up. She told me that a person 
connected with the magistracy had waited below with my 
father for the return of our family friend, and that after they 
had been closeted together for some time, both the gentle- 
men had taken leave, talking to each other with apparent 
satisfaction, and even laughing aloud. She even thought 
she had heard the words — " It is all right ; the affair is of 
no consequence." " Indeed ! " I broke out, " the affair is 
of no consequence for me — for us ; for I have committed no 
crime, and if I had, they would somehow contrive to help 
me out of it : but the others, the others," I cried, " who will 
stand by them ? " 

My sister tried to comfort me by arguing circumstantially 
that if those of higher rank were to be saved, a veil must 
also be drawn over the faults of the more lowly. All this 
was of no avail She had scarcely left me when I again 
abandoned myself to my grief, conjuring up alternately the 
image both of the objects of my passionate devotion and of 
their actual and possible misfortunes. I told myself story 
after story, saw nothing but a succession of mishaps, and did 
not fail in particular to imagine Gretchen and myself plunged 
in utter wretchedness. 

Our family friend had ordered me to remain in my room, 
and have nothing to do with any one but the members of 
my family. This was just what I wanted, for I was best 
alone. My mother and sister visited me from time to time, 
and did their utmost to help me by all kinds of comforting 
assurances ; indeed, on the second day they came in the 
name of my father, who was now better informed, to offer 
me a complete amnesty, which indeed I gratefully accepted ; 
but I stubbornly rejected his proposal that I should go out 
with him and look at the insignia of the Empire, which were 
now publicly exhibited, declaring that I wanted to know 
nothing either of the world or of the Roman Empire till 
I was informed how the whole distressing business, which 
could have no furtlier evil consequences for me, had resulted 
for my poor acquaintances. They could give me no 
information on this point, and left me alone. Yet the next 
day they made further attempts to get me out of the house 



1762-65] GOETHE'S ILLNESS 1 89 

and awake in me some interest in the public ceremonies. 
In vain ! neither the great gala-day, nor all the events con- 
nected with the conferring of titles, nor with the Emperor's 
and the King's public table — in short, nothing could 
move me. The Elector of the Palatinate might come and 
wait on both their Majesties; these might visit the Electors; 
the last electoral sitting might be held for the despatch of 
business in arrear, and the renewal of the electoral union ; — 
nothing could call me from my suffering solitude. I let the 
bells ring for the public rejoicings, the Emperor repair 
to the Capuchin church, the Electors and Emperor depart, 
without feeling moved to take a step from my room on their 
account. The final salvo of cannon, immoderate as it was, 
did not rouse me, and just as the smoke of the powder 
dispersed, and the sound died away, so had all these glories 
vanished from my souL 

My only satisfaction now was to chew the cud of my 
misery, and to multiply it a thousandfold in my imagination. 
All faculties of imagination, of poetry and of rhetoric, had 
taken hold of this diseased spot, and threatened, by their 
very vitality, to involve body and soul in an incurable 
disorder. In this melancholy condition, I could think of 
nothing that seemed to me worth a desire, nothing worth a 
wish. An infinite yearning, indeed, seized me at times to 
know how matters had gone with my poor friends and with 
my beloved Gretchen, what had been the result of a stricter 
investigation, how far they were implicated in those crimes, 
or had been found guiltless. This, too, I pictured to my- 
self in detail, and under all kinds of aspects, never failing, 
however, to hold them as innocent and as miserably ill- 
used. Sometimes in my longing to be freed from this 
uncertainty I wrote vehement, threatening letters to our 
family friend, insisting that he should not withhold from me 
the further progress of affairs. But I soon tore them up 
again, for fear of learning what would only confirm my 
unhappiness, and of losing those shreds of consolation with 
which I had till now been able alternately to torment and 
to reassure myself. 

Thus I passed both day and night in miserable restless- 
ness, now raving, now utterly exhausted, so that I was glad 
at last to fall a prey to serious bodily illness, which compelled 



igo POETRY AND TRUTH [part i. book v 

them to call in the help of a physician^ and to think 
of every possible way of soothing me. This they thought 
they could best do by giving me in general terms the 
solemn assurance that all who were more or less involved 
in the guilt had been treated with the greatest forbearance, 
that my nearest friends, being all but innocent, had been 
dismissed with a slight reprimand, and that Gretchen had 
left the town and had returned to her own home. They 
hesitated most over this last point, and indeed it gave me 
little comfort ; for I could see in it no voluntary departure, 
but only a shameful banishment. So that my bodily and 
mental condition by no means improved; my distress 
seemed rather as if it had but just begun^and I had time 
and opportunity enough to torment myself by weaving the 
wildest romance of sorrowful events, all leading to an 
inevitable and tragic catastrophe. 



PART THE SECOND 

" The wishes of youth are garnered in age. " 

SIXTH BOOK 

Thus was I driven alternately to assist and to retard my 
recovery, and a certain secret annoyance was now added to 
my other feelings, for I saw plainly that I was watched — 
that they rarely handed me any sealed paper without 
observing what effect it produced — whether I kept it secret 
— whether I laid it down open, and so forth. I therefore 
conjectured that Pylades, or one of the cousins, or even 
Gretchen herself, might have attempted to write to me, 
either to give or to obtain information. In addition to my 
sorrow, I was now for the first time thoroughly irritated, 
and had again fresh opportunities to indulge in suppositions 
and to delude myself by the wildest conjectures. 

It was not long before they gave mie a special custodian. 
Fortunately, it was a man whom I loved and valued. He 
had held the place of tutor in the family of one of our 
friends; but his former pupil had gone to the university. 
He often visited me in my sad condition, and they at last 
found it the most natural thing to give him a room next to 
mine, as it was to be his business to keep me occupied and 
quiet, and, as I could see, to keep his eye upon me. Still, 
as I esteemed him heartily, and had already confided many 
things to him, though not my affection for Gretchen, I 
determined all the more to be perfectly candid and straight- 
forward with him, as it was intolerable to me to live in 
daily intercourse with any one, and at the same time to 
stand on a footing of uncertainty and constraint with 

191 



192 POETRY AND TRUTH [part ii. book vi 

him. It was not long, then, before I spoke to him on the 
matter, and refreshed myself by telling and retelling the 
minutest circumstances of my past happiness. The result 
of this was, that, like a sensible man, he saw it would be 
better to inform me of the upshot of the story, and that in 
every detail and particular, so that being once acquainted 
with the whole, I might be earnestly persuaded of the 
necessity of regaining my self-control, throwing the past 
behind me, and beginning a new life. First he confided to 
me who the other young people of position were who had 
allowed themselves to be enticed, first, into daring hoaxes, 
then into jesting offences against the law, and further 
even to light-hearted acts of extortion, and other such 
dangerous exploits. Thus actually had arisen a little 
conspiracy, which unprincipled men had joined, who, by 
forging papers and counterfeiting signatures, had perpe- 
trated many criminal acts, and had still worse crimes in 
contemplation. The cousins, after whom I at last im- 
patiently inquired, had been found to be quite innocent, 
only very slightly acquainted with those others, and not at 
all implicated with them. My protegt was one of the worst, 
and indeed it was by recommending him to my grandfather 
that I had laid myself open to suspicion, for he had sued 
for that office chiefly that he might have the means of 
undertaking or concealing certain villanies. After all this, 
I could at last contain myself no longer, and asked what had 
become of Gretchen, for whom I, once for all, confessed the 
strongest attachment. My friend shook his head and 
smiled. " Make yourself easy," he replied ; " the girl has 
stood her trial well, and been handsomely acquitted. They 
could discover nothing in her but what was good and kind, 
the examiners themselves were well-disposed to her, and 
could not refuse her request that she might leave the city. 
Even what she confessed in respect to you, too, my 
friend, does her honour ; I have read her deposition in the 
secret reports myself, and seen her signature." " The 
signature," exclaimed I, " which makes me so happy and 
so miserable ! What has she confessed, then ? To what 
has she subscribed ? " My friend hesitated before answer- 
ing ; but his cheerful look showed me that he concealed 
nothing dangerous. *^ If you must know, then," he replied 



1762-65] CHANGE TOWARDS GRETCHEN 1 93 

at last, "when she was interrogated concerning you and 
her intercourse with you, she said quite frankly, * I cannot 
deny that I have seen him often and with pleasure ; but I 
have always treated him as a child, and my affection for 
him was truly that of a sister. In many cases I have given 
him good advice, and, far from instigating him to any 
doubtful actions, I have hindered him from taking part 
in wanton tricks, which might have brought him into 
trouble; " 

My friend still went on making Gretchen speak as a 
governess might ; but I had already for some time ceased to 
listen to him ; for I was terribly affronted that she had set 
me down in the reports as a child, and thought myself 
instantly cured of all passion for her. I even hastily 
assured my friend that all was now over. I spoke no more 
of her, her name never crossed my lips ; but I could not 
leave off the bad habit of thinking about her, and of recalling 
her form, her manner, her demeanour, though now, in fact, 
it all appeared to me in quite another light. I felt it in- 
tolerable that a girl, at the most only a very few years 
older than I, should regard me as a child, while I imagined 
I passed for a very sensible and clever youth. Her coM 
and repelling manner, which had before so charmed me, 
now seemed quite repugnant to me ; the liberties which she 
had allowed herself to take with me, but had not permitted 
me to return, altogether odious. Yet all would have been 
well enough for me, if by signing that poetical love-letter, 
in which she had confessed a formal attachment to me, she 
had not given me a right to regard her as a sly and selfish 
coquette. Her masquerading at the milliner's, too, no 
longer seemed to me so innocent; and I turned these 
irritating thoughts over and over in my mind, until I had 
entirely stripped her of all her amiable qualities. My 
judgment was convinced, and I thought I must cast her off; 
but her image!— her image gave me the lie whenever it 
hovered before me, and that was often enough. 

Nevertheless, this barbed arrow was torn out of my 
heart, and the question then was, how best to assist the 
natural healing powers of youth. I did indeed resolve to 
play the man ; and the first thing I instantly laid aside was 
the weeping and raving, which I now regarded as childish 
VOL. I. ^ o 



194 POETRY AND TRUTH [part ii. book vi 

in the highest degree. A great step in the right direction ! For 
I had often given myself up to such violent grief, half the 
night long, that at last my tears and sobs brought me to 
such a pass that I could scarce swallow any more, eating 
and drinking became painful to me, and my chest even began 
to be affected. The vexation which I constantly felt since 
the discovery made me banish every weakness. It seemed 
frightful to me that I had sacrificed sleep, repose and health, 
for the sake of a girl who was pleased to consider me a 
babe, and to imagine herself, with respect to me, something 
very much like a nurse. 

/ These depressing reflections, I was soon convinced, were 
^only to be banished by activity ; but on what should I set 
to work? I had, indeed, much lost ground to regain in 
many things, and to prepare myself, in more than one sense, 
for the university, which I was about to attend; but I 
found neither pleasure nor success in any occupation. Much 
appeared to me familiar and trivial; I found neither sufficient 
determination in myself nor external opportunity for extend- 
ing my studies in several possible directions, and so was 
easily persuaded by the predilections of my next-door 
neighbour, to enter upon a subject which was altogether 
new and strange to me, and which for a long time offered 
me a wide field of thought and knowledge. My friend 
began, namely, to make me acquainted with the secrets of 
philosophy. He had studied in Jena, under Daries, and, 
possessing a well-regulated mind, had clearly grasped the 
trend of thought of that school, and now sought to impart 
it to me. But, unfortunately, these things would not order 
themselves in my brain after the same manner. I put 
questions, which he promised to answer in due course ; I 
made demands, which he promised to satisfy in the future. 
But our most important difference was this, that I main- 
tained a separate system of philosophy was not necessary, as 
the whole of it was already contained in religion and poetry. 
This he would by no means allow, but rather tried to prove 
to me that these must first be founded on philosophy ; this 
I stubbornly denied, and at every step in the course of our 
discussions, found arguments in support of my opinion. 
For, as room must be found in poetry for a certain faith 
in the impossible, and in religion for a like faith in the 



1762-65] PHILOSOPHICAL STUDIES I9S 

inscrutable, philosophers appeared to me to be in a very 
false position, since they attempted to demonstrate and 
explain both of them from their own point of view. More- 
over, the history of philosophy soon proved that each of its 
exponents always sought a reason different from that of the 
rest, so that the sceptic, in the end, pronounced everything 
devoid of reason and finality. 

However, this very history of philosophy, which my 
friend was compelled to study with me, because I could 
learn nothing from dogmatic expositions, amused me very 
much, but only for this reason, that one doctrine or opinion 
seemed to me as good as another, so far, at least, as I was 
capable of penetrating it. What pleased me most in the 
most ancient philosophers and schools was that poetry, 
religion, and philosophy were in them completely combined ; i 
and I could maintain my original opinion all the more/ 
eagerly since the Book of Job and the Song and Proverbs of ( 
Solomon, as well as the lays of Orpheus and Hesiod, seemed 
to bear valid witness in its favour. My friend had taken 
the smaller work of Brucker as the foundation of his course ; 
and the further we went on, the less I could make of it. I 
could not clearly see what was the aim the early Greek 
philosophers had in view. Socrates I esteemed as an 
excellent, wise man, who in his life and death might well be 
compared with Christ. His disciples, on the other hand, 
seemed to me to bear a strong resemblance to the Apostles, 
who fell apart immediately after their Master's death, each 
manifestly only accepting the truth with limitations of his 
own. Neither the keen insight of Aristotle nor the depth 
of Plato appealed to me in the least. For the Stoics, on 
the contrary, I had already some liking, and I now procured 
an Epictetus, which I studied with much interest. My 
friend unwillingly let me have my way in this partiality, 
from which he could not draw me ; for, in spite of his varied 
studies, he did not know how to narrow the main issue 
to a point. He need only have said to me that in life 
action is the main thing, and that joy and sorrow come of 
themselves. However, the young should be allowed to go 
their own course ; they do not stick to false maxims very 
long, for life soon drives or allures them on. 

The weather had improved; and we often went out 



196 POETRY AND TRUTH [part ii. book vi 

together, and visited the pleasure resorts which surrounded 
the city in great numbers. But it was precisely in such 
places that I was most ill at ease ; for I still saw the ghosts 
of the cousins everywhere,' and feared, at any moment, to 
see one of them step forward. Even the most casual 
glances of my fellow-men annoyed me. I had lost that 
happy state of unconsciousness when I could wander about 
unknown and unblamed, unaware of observation, even in 
the greatest crowds. Now hypochondriacal fancies began 
to torment me, as if I attracted the people's attention, as if 
all eyes were turned on my behaviour, to fix it on their 
memories, to scrutinize and to find fault. 

I therefore drew my friend into the woods, and shunning 
the monotonous firs, I sought those fine leafy groves, which 
are not indeed of any great extent, but are yet large enough 
for a poor wounded heart to find a refiige there. In the 
remotest depth of the forest I had sought out a solemn spot 
magnificently shaded by the oldest oaks and beeches. The 
ground was somewhat sloping, which only brought out more 
clearly the grandeur of the massive trunks. This open 
space was encircled by dense thickets, in the midst of which 
emerged venerable, moss-grown rocks, over which a stream 
of water hurled itself. 

Scarcely had I compelled the company of my friend, 
who would rather have been in the open country by the 
river, among men, than he playfully assured me that I 
showed myself a true German-. He related to me circum- 
stantially, out of Tacitus, how our ancestors delighted in 
the feelings which nature awakens in us, in such solitudes, 
by her artless architecture. He had not long continued in 
this strain, when I exclaimed, "Oh! why does not this 
precious spot lie still deeper in the wilderness ! why may 
we not train a hedge around it, to hallow and separate from 
the world both it and ourselves ! Surely no worship of the 
Deity is more fitting than that which needs no graven 
image, but which springs up in our hearts merely from inter- 
course with nature ! *' What I then felt, is still present with 
me; what I said, I know not now how to recall. This 
much, however, is certain, that the undefined and all-em- 
bracing feelings of youth and of uncivilized nations are alone 
adapted to receive the impression of the sublime. If this 



1762-65] DRAWING FOR NATURE I97 

impression is excited in us through indefinite or incompre- 
hensible external objects, it must be because we are brought 
face to face with a greatness beyond our ken. 

All men, more or less, feel such a disposition of the 
soul, and seek to satisfy this noble craving in various ways. 
But as a feeling for the sublime is easily produced in us by 
twilight and night, when objects are blended, and is, on the 
other hand, dispelled by the light of day, which separates 
and sunders, in the same way must it also be destroyed by 
every increase of culture, unless it be fortunate enough 
to find refuge in the apprehension of the beautiful, and to 
be incorporated with it, when both may thus become equally 
undying and indestructible. 

The brief moments of such delights were still more 
shortened by my philosophical friend ; but when I turned 
back into the world, it was in vain that I sought, in a bald 
and unfruitful environment, to reawaken such feelings within 
me; nay^ I could scarce retain even the remembrance of 
them. But my heart had grown too exacting to be easily 
satisfied; it had loved, and the beloved object had been 
snatched away from it ; it had lived, and life had been em- 
bittered for it. A friend who makes it too evident that he 
intends to educate you, can inspire no comfort; while a 
woman who is educating, while she seems to spoil you, 
is adored as a heavenly source of joy and happiness. But 
the form under which the idea of beauty first manifested 
itself to me, had vanished in the distance ; it often visited 
me under the shade of my oak trees, but I could not hold it 
fast, and I felt a powerful impulse to wander forth in search 
of a similar experience. 

I had by slow degrees accustomed, and indeed com- 
pelled my friend and guardian to leave me alone ; for even 
in my sacred grove, those . vast and undefined feelings 
did not suffice me. It was through the eye, more than any 
other organ, that I received my impressions of the external 
world. I had, from childhood, lived among painters, and 
had accustomed myself to look at objects, as they did, with 
reference to art. Now I was left to myself and to solitude, 
this gift, part natural, part acquired, revealed itself. Wherever 
I looked, .1 saw a picture, and whatever struck me, whatever 
gave me delight, aroused in me the desire to fix it, so that I 



igS POETRY AND TRUTH [i^art ii. book vi 

began, though most unskilfully, to draw from nature. I had 
no single qualification for such work ; yet, though lacking 
in all technical means, I obstinately persisted in trying to 
imitate the miost magnificent things that offered themselves 
to my sight. Thus, to be sure, I acquired a great power of 
observation, but I only grasped objects as a whole, and in 
respect to the effect they produced ; and nature would no 
more grant me the capacity of a draughtsman for details 
than she would equip me with the qualities of a descriptive 
poet. Since, however, this was the only way left me of 
expressing myself, I held to it with stubbornness, nay even 
with a melancholy ardour, continuing my labours the more 
zealously, the less apparent the result they produced. 

But I will not deny that my motives were not entirely 
innocent ; for I had remarked that if I chose such a difficult 
study as an old trunk, lying half in shadow, with the sun 
shining full upon the ferns clinging to its huge gnarled roots 
and playing upon the grasses all around, my friend, who 
knew from experience that I should not be done in less than 
an hour, usually resolved to seek out, with his books, some 
other pleasant little spot. Now there was nothing to disturb 
me in prosecuting my hobby all the more eagerly, since my 
drawings were made dearer to me by the fact that I had 
accustomed myself to see in them not so much what they 
actually represented, as the subject of my meditations at 
the time and hour when I drew. Thus plants and flowers 
of the commonest kind may form a charming diary for us, 
because nothing that calls back the remembrance of a happy 
moment can be insignificant; and even now it would be 
hard for me to destroy as worthless many such mementoes 
that have remained to me from different periods of my life, 
because they transport me immediately to those occasions, 
which I remember with sadness indeed, yet not unwillii^ly. 

But whatever intrinsic interest such drawings may have 
had they owed to my father's sympathy and attention. He 
was well pleased to hear from my guardian that I had 
become gradually reconciled to my condition, and, in par- 
ticular, had devoted myself passionately to drawing from 
nature, — partly because he himself set a high value on 
drawing and painting, partly because his friend Seekatz had 
once said to him, that it was a pity I was not destined for a 



1762-65] LONGER EXCURSIONS 199 

painter. But here the peculiar characteristics of father and 
son came again into conflict : for it was almost impossible 
for me to make use in my drawing of a perfectly good, white, 
clean sheet of paper ; old grey sheets, even if scribbled over 
on one side already, suited me best, as if my imperfect skill 
feared the touchstone of a white background. Nor were 
any of my drawings quite finished ; for how should I have 
executed a whole, which indeed I saw with my eyes, but 
could not grasp as such, or how have reproduced an in- 
dividual object, which was indeed within my knowledge, but 
which I had neither skill nor patience to carry out in full ? 
My father's pedagogic methods on this point were, indeed, to 
be admired. He kindly asked after my attempts, and drew 
lines round every imperfect sketch. He wished, by this 
means, to urge me to completeness and fulness of detail. 
He cut rough sheets straight, and thus made the beginnmg 
of a collection, in which he hoped, at some future time, to 
be able to trace and rejoice over the progress of his son. 
He was therefore by no means displeased when my wild, 
restless disposition sent me roving about the country; on 
the contrary, he seemed gratified when I brought back a 
parcel of drawings in which he could find an exercise for 
his patience, and in some measure a confirmation of his 
hopes. 

They were no longer anxious lest I should relapse into 
my former habits and connections ; but left me by degrees 
perfect liberty. In the company of casual acquaintances I 
took several casual trips to that mountain-range which, from 
my childhood, had risen before me, &r and stately. Thus 
we visited Homburg, Kroneburg, and ascended the Feldberg, 
from which the view enticed us to further explorations. 
Konigstein, too, was not unvisited ; Wiesbaden, Schwalbach 
and its environs, occupied us many days ; we reached the 
Rhine, which we had seen from the heights winding away in 
the distance. Mainz astonished us, but could not long 
enthrall a youthful mind, longing to range the open country ; 
Biberich and its situation delighted us^ and, contented and 
happy, we resumed our journey home. 

This whole tour, from which my father had promised 
himself many a drawing, might have been almost fruitless ; 
for what taste, what talent, what experience does it not require 



2(X) POETRY AND TRUTH [part ii. book vi 

to compose a picture from a widespread landscape ! My in- 
clinations again drew me imperceptibly to a narrower sphere, 
which provided me with some spoil ; for I met no ruined 
castle, no piece of wall redolent of antiquity, that I did not 
think an object worthy of my pencil, and reproduce as well 
as I could. Even the stone of Drusus, on the ramparts of 
Mainz, I copied at some risk, and with those inconveniences 
which everyone must experience who wishes to carry home 
with him some pictorial reminiscences of his travels. Un- 
fortunately I had again taken with me nothing but the most 
miserable common paper, and had clumsily crowded several 
subjects on one sheet. But my paternal mentor soon 
overcame this difficulty; he cut the sheets apart, had the 
parts which belonged to each other bound by the book- 
binder, drew margins round the single sheets, and actually 
compelled me to prolong the outline of various mountains 
up to the margin, and to fill up the foreground with weeds 
and stones. 

If his faithful endeavours could not increase my talent, 
nevertheless this mark of his love of order had a secret 
influence on me, which afterwards revealed itself to some 
purpose in more ways than one. 

From such rambling excursions, undertaken partly for 
pleasure, partly for art's sake, and which could be taken in a 
short time and often repeated, I was again drawn home, and 
that by a magnet which always acted upon me strongly : 
this was my sister. Only a year younger than I, she had 
lived my whole life with me as far back as I could remember, 
and was thus bound to me by the closest ties. To these 
natural causes was added a forcible motive, springing from 
the conditions of our family life. There was on the one hand 
a father, certainly affectionate and well-meaning, but grave, 
hiding, with incredible persistence, the impulses of a naturally 
affectionate heart under an iron sternness of demeanour, 
that he might attain his end of giving his children the best 
education, and of building up, regulating, and maintaining 
his prosperous household ; on the other hand, a mother, as 
yet almost a child, who first grew up to womanhood with 
and in her two eldest children ; these three, looking out on 
the world with healthy eyes, eager for life, and desiring 
present enjoyment. This contradiction, ever present in the 



1762-65] GOETHE'S SISTER 20I 

family, increased with years. My father followed out his 
views unmoved and undeterred; the mother and children 
could not give up their feelings, their claims, their desires. 

Under these circumstances it was natural that brother 
and sister should be closely drawn to one another, and cling 
to their mother, that they might snatch singly the pleasures 
forbidden as a whole. But since the hours of solitude and 
toil were very long compared to the moments of recreation 
and enjoyment, especially for my sister, who could never 
leave the house for so long a time as I could, the necessity 
she felt for intercourse with me was further sharpened by 
the longing with which she accompanied me in my wander- 
ings. 

And as, in our early years, lessons and play, growth and 
education, had been shared in common, so tiiat we might 
well have been taken for twins, in the same way this com- 
munity of thought, this confidence, persisted during the 
development of our physical and moral powers. That 
interest of youth, that amazement at the awakening of sensual 
impulses which clothe themselves in processes of mind, of 
cravings of the mind assuming sensual images, all our brood- 
ings upon these themes, which obscure rather than enlighten 
us, as the fog covers rather than illumines the vale from 
which it is about to rise, the many errors and aber- 
rations springing therefrom, — all these the brother and sister 
shared and endured hand in hand. Yet the nearer they 
wished to approach each other, to draw from one another 
light upon their strange condition, the more forcibly did the 
sacred awe of their close relationship keep them apart. 

It is with reluctance that I set forth in vague terms what 
I attempted to express years ago and failed. The early loss 
of this dear and inscrutable being was sufficient inducement 
to make me attempt to form some idea of her whole worth, 
and thus arose in me the conception of a poetic whole, in 
which it might be possible to unfold her personaUty : but 
no other form presented itself than that of the Richardsonian 
novel. Only by minutest detail, by endless detached in- 
stances which all vividly bear the character of the whole, 
and as they spring from a wonderful depth give some clue to 
that depth; — only in such a manner would it have been 
in some degree possible to give an idea of this remarkable 



202 POETRY AND TRUTH [part II. BOOK vi 

personality ; for the spring can be apprehended only while 
it is flowing. I'he stress of the world drew me back from 
this fair, profitable purpose, as from so many others, and 
nothing now remains for me but to conjure up for a moment 
that blessed spirit, as by the aid of a magic mirror. 

She was tall, finely and delicately formed, with a natural 
dignity of manner, which melted easily into a sweet gracious- 
ness. Her features, neither striking nor beautiful, indicated 
a character which was not and could not be in unity with itself. 
Her eyes were not the finest I have ever seen, but the deepest, 
with most hidden depths, and with an unrivalled power of 
expressing love and affection. And yet, properly speaking, 
their expression was not tender, like that which comes from 
the heart, and at the same time brings with it something of 
longing and desire ; it came rather from the soul, full and 
rich, eager, apparently, only to give, not anxious to receive. 

But what peculiarly disfigured her face, so that she would 
often appear positively ugly, was the fashion of those times, 
which not only bared the forehead, but, either accidentally or 
on purpose, did everything apparently or really to enlarge it. 
Now, as she had the most feminine, most well-rounded fore- 
head, and moreover thick black eyebrows, and prominent 
eyes, these formed a contrast, which, if it did not repel every 
stranger at the first glance, at least did not attract him. She 
early felt it, and this feeling became constantly more painful 
to her as she approached those years when both sexes find 
an innocent pleasure in being mutually attractive. 

Nobody can find his own appearance repugnant; the 
ugliest as well as the most beautiful has a right to enjoy his 
own presence; and as liking beautifies, and everyone 
regards his own reflection in the looking-glass with liking, it 
may be asserted that everyone must see his own face with 
complacency, even if he may wish to struggle against the 
feeling. Yet my sister had such a firm good sense, that she 
could not possibly be blind and foolish in this respect ; on 
the contrary, she perhaps knew more clearly than she ought, 
that she came far behind her girl friends in external beauty, 
without feeling consoled by the fact that she infinitely 
surpassed them in inner qualities. 

If a girl can ever be recompensed for the want of 
beauty, she could have found rich compensation in the 



1762-65] GOETHE'S SISTER 203 

unbounded confidence, regard, and love which all her 
friends bore her, whether older or younger than herself. 
A very pleasant circle had gathered round her ; even some 
young men had succeeded in gaining admission; nearly 
every girl found an admirer ; she alone remained unmated. 
Indeed, if her exterior was in some measure repulsive, the 
mind that pierced through it was also rather repelling than 
attractive; for the presence of excellence makes others 
reflect upon themselves. She felt this keenly, and did not 
conceal it from me, but her love for me grew all the stronger. 
The case was singular enough. As confidants to whom 
one reveals a love-affair by their genuine sympathy become 
lovers also, nay, grow into rivals, and at last, perchance, 
attract the passion to themselves, so it was with us two : for, 
when my connection with Gretchen was broken off, my 
sister consoled me the more warmly, because she secretly 
felt the satisfaction of having got rid of a rival ; and I, too, 
could not but feel a quiet, half-malicious pleasure, when 
she did me the justice to assure me that I was the only one 
who truly loved, understood, and esteemed her. If now, 
from time to time, my grief for the loss of Gretchen revived, 
and I suddenly began to weep, to lament, and to lose my 
self-control, my despair over my loss awakened in her too a 
similar desperate impatience at her failure to gain, or 
prosper in, or keep, the joy of such youthful attachments ; 
we then both thought ourselves infinitely unhappy, the more 
so as, in this singular case, the confidants could not change 
into lovers. 

Fortunately, however, the capricious god of Love, who 
does so much needless mischief, for once interfered bene- 
ficially, to help us out of all perplexity. I had much inter- 
course with a young Englishman who was educated in Pfeil's 
boarding-school. He was well-grounded in his own language, 
I practised it with him, and thus learned much concerning 
his country and people. He came and went in our house 
for some time without my remarking in him any attachment 
to my sister, yet he may have been nourishing one in secret 
till it grew to a passion, for at last it declared itself suddenly 
and unexpectedly. She knew him, she esteemed him, and 
he was worthy of it. She had often been a third at our 
English conversations, we had both tried to catch from his 



204 POETRY AND TRUTH [part ir. book vi 

lips the irregularities of English pronunciation, and so had 
grown accustomed not only to the peculiarities of its accent 
and sound, but even to what was most peculiar in the 
personal qualities of our teacher ; so that at last our speech 
sounded strangely enough as if it proceeded from one mouth. 
The pains he took to learn as much German from us in the 
like manner were to no purpose, and I think I remarked 
that even this little love-affair was carried on in English both 
in speaking and writing. The young folk were both very 
well suited to each other ; he was tall and well-built, as she 
was, only slighter still ; his small, set face might really have 
been good-looking, had it not been too much disfigured by 
small-pox ; his manner was calm, precise, it might even be 
called at times dry and cold; but his heart was full of 
kindness and love, his soul full of generosity, and his 
affections as lasting as they were firm and controlled. Now 
this serious-minded pair, who had but lately been drawn 
together, had formed an attachment very different from that 
of others, who, though better acquainted with one another, 
are of a more frivolous character, more careless as to the 
future, and enter light-heartedly into connections, which 
commonly pass away as a mere fruitless prelude to subse- 
quent and more serious ties, and very seldom produce a 
lasting effect upon life. 

The fine weather and lovely country were enjoyed to the 
full by our gay company ; water excursions were frequently 
arranged, because these are the most sociable of all pleasure 
parties. Yet whether we were on water or on land, the 
mutual powers of attraction immediately showed themselves ; 
they drew together in couples, and for some unengaged men 
like myself, there remained either no conversation with the 
ladies at all, or only such as no one would have chosen for 
a holiday. A friend who found himself in a like condition 
and who may have had no partner chiefly for the reason 
that, though thoroughly good-natured, he lacked tenderness, 
and, with all his intelligence, failed in that delicate attention, 
without which no one may hope to form ties of this kind ; — 
this man, as I was saying, often lamenting his condition, 
with much wit and humour, promised at the next meeting to 
make a proposal which would benefit himself and the whole 
company. Nor did he fail to keep his word. We had all 



1762-65! HUMOROUS ORATION 205 

enjoyed a merry trip by water and a pleasant walk, had 
cheerfully discussed our rustic fare, stretched on the grass 
under shady knolls, or sitting on mossy rocks and roots of 
trees. Our friend seized this moment of good cheer to 
address us with mock-dignity, bade us form a semi-circle 
round him, before which he stepped, and began the follow- 
ing emphatic oration : — 

"Most worthy friends of both sexes, paired and un- 
paired ! — It is already evident, from this address, how 
necessary it is that a preacher of repentance should arise to 
quicken the consciences of this company. A certain 
number of my honourable friends have found a mate, and 
they may be quite happy; others are still unmated, and 
these are utterly miserable, as I can assure you from my 
own experience ; and although loving couples are here in the 
majority, yet I would have them consider whether it is not 
a social duty to take thought for the whole ? Why do we 
gather together in large numbers but to take a mutual 
interest in each other ? and how can that be done when so 
many little cliques are to be seen in our circle ? Far be it 
from me to insinuate anything against such tender ties, 
or even to wish to disturb them ; but * there is a time for all 
things ! ' an excellent and weighty saying, which, indeed, 
everyone disregards when his own amusement is sufficiently 
provided for." 

• He then went on with increasing liveliness and gaiety to 
contrast social virtues and tender sentiments. " The latter," 
said he, " can never fail us : we always carry them about 
with us, and everyone becomes proficient in them without 
practice ; but we must go in quest of the former, we must 
take some trouble about them, and whatever progress we 
may make in them, we have never done learning them." 
He now went into particulars. Many felt themselves hit, 
and could not help casting glances at each other; yet 
our friend was so far a privileged person, that nothing 
he did was taken amiss, so he could proceed without 
interruption. 

" It is not enough to discover deficiencies ; indeed, it is 
unjust to do so, if at the same time one cannot suggest 
a means of improvement. I will not, therefore, my friends, 
like a preacher in Passion week, exhort you in general terms 



2o6 POETRY AND TRUTH [part ii. book vr 

to repentance and amendment ; I rather wish all these 
gracious couples the longest and most enduring happiness, 
and to contribute to it myself in the surest manner, I propose 
to sever and abolish these most delightful cliques during our 
hours of social intercourse. I have," he continued, " already 
provided for the execution of my project, if it should meet 
your approval. Here is a bag in which are the names of the 
gentlemen; now draw, my fair ones, and be pleased to 
favour as your servant, for a week, him whom fate shall 
send you. This is binding only within our own circle ; as 
soon as that is broken up, these ties are also abolished, and 
the heart may decide who shall attend you home." 

A large part of the company had been delighted with 
this address and the manner in which it was delivered, and 
seemed to approve of the notion ; yet a few couples looked 
at each other as if they thought that it would not answer 
their purpose: he therefore cried with humorous vehe- 
mence : — 

" Truly 1 though some still hesitate, no one has risen to 
extol my plan, explain its advantages, and spare me the 
pain of being my own encomiast. I am the oldest among 
you; may God forgive me that ! I am already bald, and 
that is due to my deep cogitations." 

Here he took off his hat — 

" But I would expose my bald head to view with joy 
and pride if my meditations, which dry up my skin, and rob 
me of my finest ornament, could only be in some measure 
beneficial to myself and others. We are young, my friends, 
— that is well ; we shall grow older, — that is bad ; we take 
each other in good part, — that is right, and fits the season. 
But soon, my friends, the days will come when we shall have 
in ourselves much cause of discontent ; then let everyone 
see that he is reconciled with himself; but, at the same 
time, others will take things amiss from us, and for reasons 
we cannot understand ; we must prepare ourselves for this, 
and that without delay." 

He had delivered the whole speech, but especially the 
last part, with the tone and gestures of a Capuchin ; for as 
he was a Catholic, he had had abundant opportunity of 
studying the oratory of these fathers. He now seemed out 
of breath, mopped his prematurely bald head, which really 



1762-65I TEMPORARY SWEETHEARTS 207 

gave him the look of a priest, and by such drolleries put the 
light-hearted company into such good humour that every 
one was eager to hear more. But instead of proceeding, he 
opened the bag, and turned to the nearest lady — " Now let 
us put it to the test ! " he exclaimed ; " the master shall be 
honoured by his works. If in a week's time we do not like 
it, we will give it up, and stick to the old plan." 

Half willingly, half on compulsion, the ladies drew their 
tickets, and it was easy to see that various passions were 
evoked by this trifling act. Fortunately it happened that 
whilst the more light-hearted were separated, the more 
serious-minded remained together; and so my sister kept 
her Englishman, which both considered a mark of favour 
from the god of Love and Luck. The new couples, whom 
chance had united, were blessed by our Master of the 
Ceremonies, their healths were drunk, and we wished them 
joy all the more heartily, as its duration was to be but short 
This was certainly the merriest moment that our company 
had enjoyed for a long time. The young men to whose 
share no lady had fallen, held, for this week, the office of 
providing for mind, soul, and body, as our orator expressed 
it, but especially, he hinted, for the soul, since the other two 
already knew how to look after themselves. 

The officers thus appointed, who at once wished to do 
themselves credit, introduced some very pretty new games, 
prepared for us supper near by, which we had not reckoned 
on, and illuminated the yacht on our return at night, although 
this was quite unnecessary in the bright moonlight ; but they 
excused themselves by saying that it was quite conformable 
to our new social regulations to outshine the tender rays of 
the heavenly moon by earthly candlelight. The moment 
we touched the shore, our Solon cried, "//<?, missa estT^ 
Each one now helped the lady who had fallen to him by 
lot out of the boat, and then surrendered her to her proper 
partner, receiving his own in exchange. 

At our next meeting this weekly institution was established 
for the summer, and the lots were drawn once more. There 
was no question but that this jest gave a new and unexpected 
turn to our social meetings, every one was stimulated to dis- 
play whatever he possessed of wit and grace, and to pay 
court to his temporary sweetheart with the greatest fervour, 



208 POETRY AND TRUTH [part ii. book vi 

since he might depend on having a sufficient store of pretty 
speeches for one week at least. 

We had scarcely settled ourselves, when, instead of thank- 
ing our orator, we reproached him for having kept to himself 
the best part of his speech — ^the conclusion. He thereupon 
protested that the best part of a speech was persuasiveness ; 
and that he who did not aim at persuading should make 
no speech ; for, as to conviction, that was a ticklish matter. 
As, however, they gave him no peace, he began a Capu- 
chinade on the spot, more comical than ever, perhaps, for 
the very reason that he took it into his head to speak on 
the most serious subjects. For, by the help of texts out 
of the Bible which did not bear on the subject in the least, 
of inappropriate similes, and of irrelevant allusions, he main- 
tained the proposition, that whoever does not know how to 
conceal his passions, inclinations, wishes, purposes and plans, 
will come to no good in the world, but will be made a butt 
and a dupe on every hand ; and that especially if one would 
be happy in love, one must take pains to keep it a most 
profound secret. 

This thought ran through the whole, though never, as 
a matter of fact, expressed in words. To form some con- 
ception of this singular man, it should be borne in mind, that 
starting with good capacities, he had cultivated his talents, 
and especially his acuteness, in Jesuit schools, and had 
amassed an extensive knowledge of the world and of men, 
but only of the worse side of both. He was some two-and- 
twenty years old, and would gladly have made of me a 
proselyte to his contempt for mankind ; but this was foreign 
to me, as I always had a great desire to be good myself, 
and to find good in others. Meanwhile he drew my atten- 
tion to much that was new. 

The dramatis persona of every merry company is incom- 
plete without an actor, who is amused when the others, to 
enliven a dull moment, point the arrows of their wit at him. 
If he is not merely a stuffed Saracen, like those against 
whom the knights used to practise their lances in mock 
encounters, but understands himself how to skirmish, to 
rally and to challenge, how to wound lightly, and recover 
himself again, and, while seeming to expose himself, knows 
how to drive home, no better sport could be devised. We 



1762-65] FRIENDSHIP WITH HORN 209 

possessed such a man in our friend Horn, whose name, to 
begin with, gave occasion to all sorts of jokes, and who, on 
account of his small stature, was called nothing but Horn- 
chen (little Horn). He was, in fact, the smallest in the 
company, sturdy, yet pleasant-looking ; a pug-nose, pouting 
lips, little sparkling eyes, made up a swarthy countenance, 
which always seemed to invite laughter. His small compact 
head was well covered with curly black hair ; his beard was 
prematurely blue, and he would have liked to let it grow, that 
his comical appearance might always provide the company 
with subject for mirth. For the rest, he was neat and nimble, 
but insisted that he had bandy legs, which everybody granted, 
since he was bent on having it so, but which were the object 
of many a joke ; for since he was in request as a very good 
dancer, he reckoned it among the peculiarities of the fair 
sex, that they always liked to see bandy legs on the floor. 
His cheerfulness was inexhaustible, and his presence at 
every gathering was indispensable. We two were par- 
ticularly friendly because he was to follow me to the uni- 
versity; and he well deserves that I should mention him 
with all esteem, as he held to me for many years with infinite 
love, loyalty, and patience. 

My faculty for rhyming, and for seizing the poetical 
aspect of commonplace things, had enticed him into similar 
labours. Our little social excursions and pleasure-parties, 
with their trivial occurrences, were clothed by us in poetic 
garb, so that our description of an event always gave rise to 
a new one. But as such social jests commonly degenerate 
into personal ridicule, and my friend Horn did not always 
keep within proper bounds in his burlesque mimicry, many 
a misunderstanding arose, which, however, could soon be 
softened down and forgotten. 

He tried his skill also in a kind of poetry which was 
then very much in vogue — the mock-heroic poem. Pope's 
Rape of tJie Lock had called forth many imitations \ Zacharia 
cultivated this branch of poetry on German soil, and it 
pleased every one, because the ordinary subject was some 
loutish fellow, of whom the genii made game, while they 
favoured the better man. 

It is not wonderful, but yet excites wonder, to observe, 
in contemplating any literature, especially the German, how 
VOL. I. ? 



2IO POETRY AND TRUTH [part ii. book vi 

a whole nation cannot rid itself of a subject which has been 
once given, and happily treated under a certain form, but 
will have it repeated in every possible variety, until, at last, 
the original itself is hidden, and stifled by innumerable 
imitations. 

My friend's heroic poem bears out this statement. At 
a great sledging party, a lady falls to the lot of a clumsy 
partner whom she dislikes ; comically enough there befalls 
him, one after another, every accident that can happen on 
such an occasion, until at last, as he is entreating for the 
sledge-driver's right (a kiss), he falls from the back seat, 
tripped up, of course, by the spirits at the critical moment. 
His fair partner seizes the reins, and drives home alone, 
where a favoured wooer receives her, and triumphs over 
his presumptuous rival. For the rest, the conceit was 
prettily worked out, each of the four different kinds of 
spirits worrying him in turn, till the gnomes at last hoist 
him completely out of the saddle. The poem, written in 
Alexandrines, and founded on a true story, highly delighted 
our little circle, and we were convinced that it could well 
be compared with Lowen's Walpurgisnacht^ or Zacharia's 
Renomniist 

As our social pleasures only took up one evening, and 
the preparations for them only a few hours, I had enough 
time to read, and, as I thought, to study. To please my 
father, I worked diligently at Hoppe's abridged edition, till 
I knew it from cover to cover^ and so completely mastered 
the chief contents of the Institutes. But an unquenchable 
thirst for knowledge urged me further; I lit upon the 
history of ancient literature, and from that fell into a 
craving for encyclopedic knowledge, in which I read 
through Gessner's Isagoge and Morhof s Polyhistor^ acquiring 
thus some general idea of the marvellous developments of 
life and learning. This voracious and persistent industry, 
continued day and night, did more to confuse than instruct 
me; but I lost myself in a still greater labyrinth when I 
found Bayle in my father's library, and plunged into the 
study of him. 

But a leading conviction, continually revived within me, 
was that of the importance of the ancient tongues; since 
from amidst this literary hurly-burly, thus much continually 



1762-65] AVERSION TO FRANKFORT 211 

forced itself upon me, that in them were preserved all the 
models of oratory, and at the same time everything else of 
worth that the world has ever possessed. Hebrew, together 
with Biblical studies, had retired into the background, and 
so had Greek, since my acquaintance with it did not extend 
beyond the New Testament. So I kept all the more 
zealously to Latin, whose master-pieces lie nearer to us, and 
which, besides its splendid original productions, offers us 
the wealth of all subsequent ages in translations and the 
works of the greatest scholars. I consequently read much 
in this language, with great ease, and was bold enough to 
believe I understood the authors, because I missed nothing 
of the literal sense. Indeed I was very indignant when I 
heard that Grotius had insolently declared, "he did not 
read Terence as boys do." Oh, happy limitations of youth ! 
— nay, of men in general, by which they can, at any moment 
of their life, imagine themselves perfected in wisdom, and 
care not to search out either truth or falsehood, either 
. heights or depths, but merely such things as are on a level 
with their imderstanding. 

I had thus learned I-.atin, like German, French, and 
English, merely by practice, without rules, and without 
grasping the nature, of the language at the time. Who- 
ever knows the condition of school instruction, will not 
think it strange that I skipped grammar as well as rhe- 
toric; it all seemed to come naturally to me; I retained 
the words, their forms and inflexions, in my ear and 
mind, and used the language with ease in writing and in 
conversation. 

Michaelmas, the time when I was to go to the university, 
was drawing near, and my mind was quite as much excited 
about the life there as about its learning. I grew more and 
more clearly conscious of an aversion to my native city. 
The loss of Gretchen had snapped the main stem of the 
boyish, youthful plant ; it needed time to put out fresh side- 
shoots, and to recover from the original injury by new 
growth. My ramblings through the streets had ceased; I 
now, like others, only went where necessity impelled. I 
never went again into Gretchen*s quarter of the city, nor 
even into its vicinity; and just as its old walls and towers 
became gradually offensive to me, I began too to dislike the 



212 POEtRY AND TRUTH [part ii. book vi 

constitution of the city; all that had hitherto seemed so 
estimable now appeared distorted in my eyes. As grandson 
of the Sckultkeiss, I had been well aware of the hidden 
defects of such a republic, and that all the more because of 
that peculiar surprise and busy curiosity to which children 
are excited, as soon as something which they have hitherto 
implicitly revered becomes in any degree suspicious to 
them. The fruitless indignation of upright men^ struggling 
against such as are to be influenced and even bribed by 
factions, had become but too plain to me ; I had a bound- 
less hatred of injustice ; for all children are moral rigorists. 
My father, who was concerned in the affairs of the town 
merely as a private citizen, expressed himself with very 
lively indignation about many abortive efforts. And after 
so much study and pains, so many travels and endeavours, 
after such wide and varied culture, did I not see him leading 
within four walls a solitary life, such as I could never desire 
for myself? All this weighed on my mind as a horrible 
burden, from which I could only free myself by trying to 
contrive a plan of life altogether different from that which 
had been marked out for me. In imagination I cast aside 
my legal studies and devoted myself solely to languages, to 
antiquarian research, to history, and to interests connected 
with them. 

Indeed, at all times, the reproduction in poetic form of 
what I had perceived in myself, in others, and in nature, 
afforded me the greatest pleasure. I did it with ever- 
increasing facility, because it came by instinct, and no 
criticism had led me astray ; and if I did not feel full of 
confidence in my productions, I could certainly regard them 
as defective, but not such as to be utterly rejected. In 
spite of adverse criticism on individual points, I still retained 
in private my conviction that I could not but gradually 
improve, and that some time my name might be honourably 
mentioned along with Hagedorn, Gellert, and other such 
men. Yet I could not feel that so empty and inadequate a 
distinction could satisfy me. I wished to devote myself 
professionally and with zeal to those aforesaid fundamental 
studies, and, even while making more rapid progress in my 
own work by a more thorough insight into antiquity, to 
qualify myself for a university professorship, which seemed 



1762-65] THOUGHTS OF LEIPZIG 213 

to me the most desirable position for a young man who 
intended to educate himself and to contribute to the educa- 
tion of others. 

With these intentions, I always had my eye upon Gottin- 
gen. My whole confidence was placed in men like Heyne, 
Michaelis, and so many others j my most ardent wish was 
to sit at their feet and listen to their teaching. But my 
father remained inflexible. Though some family friends, 
who were of my opinion, tried their best to influence him, 
he persisted that I must go to Leipzig. I was now resolved, 
in self-defence, contrary to his views and wishes, to choose 
a line of studies and of life for myself. My father's obstinacy 
in unconsciously opposing my plans strengthened me in my 
rebellion, so that I made no scruple of listening to him by 
the hour, while he repeatedly described to me the course of 
life and study which I was to pursue at the universities and 
in the world at large. 

Since all hopes of Gottingen were cut off, I now turned 
my attention to Leipzig. There Ernes ti seemed a star to 
me, and Moms, too, awakened my confidence. I planned 
in secret a rival career, or rather I built a castle in the air, 
on tolerably solid foundations, thinking it quite dignified and 
romantic to mark out for myself a path in life, which seemed 
all the less visionary, as Griesbach had already made great 
progress in a similar direction, and was commended for it 
by everyone. The secret joy of a prisoner, when he has 
loosed his fetters and rapidly filed tlirough the bars of his 
gaol-window, cannot be greater than mine was as day after 
day slipped by and October drew near. The inclement 
season and the bad roads, a universal topic of complaint, 
did not frighten me. The idea of making a beginning in a 
strange place, and in winter, did not daunt me ; suffice it to 
say, that I only saw my present situation was a depressing 
one, and imagined the rest of the unknown world as bright 
and cheerful. So I dreamed my dreams, and grew absorbed 
in them, promising myself nothing but happiness and satis- 
faction in the distant future. 

Closely as I kept these projects a secret from everyone 
else, I could not hide them from my sister, who, though 
very much alarmed about them at first, was finally consoled 
by my promise to send for her, so that she might enjoy with 



214 POETRY AND TRUTH [part ii. book vi 

me the brilliant station I was to win, and share my comfort 
with me. 

Michaelmas, so longingly expected, came at last, and I 
set out joyfully, in the company of the bookseller Fleischer 
and his wife, whose maiden name was Triller, and who was 
going to visit her father in Wittemberg ; leaving the noble 
city in which I had been born and bred, with utter indiffer- 
ence, as if I wished never to set foot in it again. 

Thus, at certain epochs, children part from parents, 
servants from masters, protigh from their patrdns ; and 
whether it succeed or not, such an attempt to stand on 
one's own feet, to make oneself independent, to live for 
oneself, is always in accordance with the law of nature. 

Driving out through All Saints' Gate, and leaving Hanau 
behind us, we reached scenes which aroused my attention 
by their novelty, if, at this season of the year, they offered 
little that was pleasing. Continual rain had completely 
spoiled the roads, which, in any case, were not then in such 
good repair as we find them now ; and our journey was thus 
neither comfortable nor pleasant. Yet I was indebted to 
the wet weather for the sight of a natural phenomenon 
which must be exceedingly rare, for I have seen nothing 
like it since, nor have I heard of its being observed by 
others. We were driving by night up a rising ground 
between Hanau and Gelhausen, and, in spite of the dark- 
ness, preferred walking to exposing ourselves to the dangers 
and difficulties of the road at that point. All at once, in a 
ravine on the right-hand side of the way, I saw a sort of 
amphitheatre, wonderfully illuminated. In a funnel-shaped 
space gleamed innumerable little lights, ranged in steps one 
over the other, and so brilliant that they dazzled the eye. 
But what confused the sight still more was, that they did not 
keep still, but flickered hither and thither, upwards and 
downwards, and in every direction. Most of them, however, 
remained stationary and shining. It was with the greatest 
reluctance that I let myself be torn away from this sight, 
which I would have liked to examine more closely. The 
postillion could give no answer to my questions about the 
phenomenon, but said that there was in the neighbourhood 
an old stone- quarry, where the middle-pit had got swamped 
with water. Now whether this had become a pandemonium 



1762-65] JOURNEY TO LEIPZIG 21$ 

of will-o'-the-wisps, or a company of shining creatures, I 
am unable to decide. 

The roads through Thuringia were yet worse, and un- 
fortunately, at night-fall, our coach stuck fast in the neigh- 
bourhood of Auerstadt. We were far removed from all 
human aid, and did our very best to help ourselves. I 
exerted myself to the utmost, and may possibly have over- 
strained the ligaments of my chest ; for soon afterwards I 
began to feel an intermittent pain, which never quite left me 
for many years. 

Yet, as though that same night were destined to alternate 
vicissitudes of fortune, I was still to undergo an annoying 
experience on the heels of what seemed a most happy 
chance. We met, in Auerstadt, a distinguished-looking 
married couple, who had also just arrived, having been 
delayed by a similar accident ; a pleasing, dignified man, in 
the prime of life, with a very handsome wife. They politely 
persuaded us to join them at supper, and I felt very gratified 
when the fine lady addressed a friendly word to me. But 
when I was sent out to hurry on the soup which had been 
ordered, unaccustomed as I was to loss of sleep, and to the 
fatigues of travelling, such an unconquerable di'owsiness 
overcame me, that I actually fell asleep as I walked, 
returned into the room with my hat on my head, and not 
noticing that the others were saying grace, stood with com- 
posed unconsciousness behind the chair, and never dreamed 
that I was disturbing their devotions by my ridiculous 
conduct. Madame Fleischer, who lacked neither spirit, nor 
wit, nor volubility, entreated the strangers, before they sat 
down, not to be surprised at anything they might see ; for 
their young fellow-traveller had strong sympathies with the 
Quakers, who believe they cannot honour God and the 
king better than with covered heads. The handsome lady, 
who could not restrain her laughter, looked prettier than 
ever in consequence, and I would have given everything in 
the world not to have been the cause of a merriment which 
was so charmingly becoming. But almost before I could 
put down my hat, the polished manners of our hosts led 
them immediately to drop the joke, and the best wine from 
their bottle-case soon banished utterly my drowsiness, my 
chagrin, and the memory of all past troubles. 



21 6 POETRY AND TRUTH [part ii. book vi 



/ 



I arrived in Leipzig just at the time of the fair, which 
particularly delighted me : for it revived memories of my 
native city by the sight of familiar wares and traders, only 
exhibited in other places, and differently arranged. I 
rambled about the market and the booths with much inte- 
rest, but my attention was particularly attracted by the 
inhabitants of the East in their strange dresses, Poles and 
Russians, and above all, Greeks, whose handsome forms 
and dignified costume brought me back repeatedly to 
examine them. 

But this animated bustle was soon over, and now the 
city itself drew my attention, with its fine, lofty, regular 
buildings. It impressed me very favourably, and I must 
admit, that in general, but especially in the quiet hours of 
Sundays and holidays, it presents a striking appearance ; and 
the lights and shadows of its moonlit streets often invited me 
to nocturnal rambles. 

In the meantime, compared with those to which I had 
hitherto been accustomed, my new surroundings were by no 
means satisfactory. Leipzig calls up in the observer no 
memories of bygone times ; its monuments speak of a new 
and recent epoch ; a period of commercial activity, ease, 
and wealth. Yet I appreciated those huge buildings, front- 
ing two streets at once, whose vast court-yards embrace a 
world of citizen life within their towering walls, and which 
are like great castles, or even whole quarters of towns. It 
was in one of these strange dwellings that I took up my 
quarters, in the Feuerkugel (Bombshell Tavern), between 
the Old and the New Neumarkt A couple of pleasant 
rooms looking out upon a court-yard, which, being a 
thoroughfare, was fairly animated, had been taken by the 
bookseller Fleischer during the fair; and I was able to 
rent them for the rest of the time at a moderate price. 
My fellow-lodger was a theological student, well versed 
in his professional studies, well-meaning, but poor, and 
suffering from a weakness of the eyes, which caused him 
great anxiety for the future. He had brought this trouble 
upon himself by his inordinate reading till dusk advanced, 
and even by moonlight, to save a little oil. Our old 
hostess showed herself kind to him, always friendly to me, 
and attentive to both of us. 



1762-65] HOFRAT BOHME 217 

I now hastened with my letters of introduction to 
HoFRAT BoHME, once a pupil of Mascow, now his successor, 
and professor of history and jurisprudence. A little, thick-set, 
lively man, who received me kindly enough, and introduced 
me to his wife. Both of them, as well as other persons on 
whom I called, gave me reason to entertain the pleasantest 
hopes as to my future residence ; but at first I let no one 
know of the design I entertained, although I could scarcely 
wait for the favourable moment to declare myself free from 
jurisprudence, and a follower of the classics. I cautiously 
waited till the Fleischers had left, that my purpose might 
not be too prematurely betrayed to my family. But I then 
went, without delay, to Hofrat Bohme, who I thought ought 
to be my first confidant, and with much self-importance and 
plain-speaking disclosed my views to him. However, my 
proposal was by no means well received. As professor of 
history and jurisprudence, he had a declared hatred for 
everything that savoured of belles kitres. Unfortunately he 
did not stand on the best footing with those who cultivated 
them, and Gellert in particular, in whom I had been tactless 
enough to express much confidence, was a special bug- 
bear of his. To deprive himself of a faithful disciple by 
sending him to such men, and especially under such cir- 
cumstances, seemed to him altogether out of the question. 
He therefore read me a severe lecture on the spot, in which 
he protested that he could not permit such a step without 
the permission of my parents, even if he approved of it 
himself, which was not the case in this instance. He then 
passionately inveighed against philology and the study of 
languages, but stfll more against the practice of poetry, 
which I had indeed allowed to peep out in the back-ground. 
He finally concluded that, if I wished to follow more closely 
the study of the ancients, it could be done much better 
through jurisprudence. He brought to my recollection many 
philosophical jurists, such as Eberhard Otto and Heineccius, 
promised me wonders from the study of Roman antiquities 
and the history of law, and made it clear as daylight to me, 
that by adhering to these I should not be going out of my 
way, even if afterwards, on more mature deliberation, and 
with the consent of my parents, I should determine to 
follow out my own plan. He begged me, in a friendly 



2l8 POETRY AND TRUTH [part ii. book vi 

manner, to think the matter over once more, and to inform 
him soon of my conclusion, as it would be necessary to 
come to a determination at once, as the beginning of the 
session was impending. 

It was, however, very polite of him not to insist more at 
the time. His arguments, and the weight with which he 
presented them, had already convinced my pliant youth, and 
I now for the first time saw that the course whidi I had in 
private pictured as so feasible, was in reahty both difficult 
and questionable. Frau Hofrat Bohme invited me to call 
on her shortly afterwards. I found her alone. She was no 
longer young, and in very delicate health, and her exceeding 
gentleness and kindness formed a decided contrast to her 
husband's blustering good-nature. She spoke of the con- 
versation her husband had lately had with me, once more 
placed the subject before me, in all its bearings, and was so 
cordial, so affectionate, so sensible, that I could not help 
yielding; whilst the few reservations on which I insisted 
were accepted by the other side. 

Thereupon her husband regulated my hours : for I was 
to attend lectures on philosophy, history of law, the Institutes, 
and some other subjects. I acquiesced ; but I carried my 
point so far as to attend Gellert's history of literature (with 
Stockhausen for a text-book), and his PracHcum also. 

The reverence and love with which Gellert was regarded 
by all young people was extraordinary. I had already 
visited him, and had been kindly received by him. Not tall, 
slender yet not gaunt, with soft and rather pensive eyes, a 
very fine forehead, a moderately aquiline nose, a delicate 
mouth, a fine oval face, — all this gave him a pleasing and 
attractive appearance. He was not easy of access. His 
two Famuli were like priests who guard a sanctuary, 
approach to which is not permitted to everybody, nor at 
every time ; and such a precaution was very necessary : for 
he would have sacrificed his whole time, had he consented 
to receive and satisfy all those who wished to become 
intimate with him. 

At first I attended my lectures zealously and assiduously : 
but philosophy failed to enlighten me at all. In logic it 
seemed strange to me that I should have so to pick to 
pieces, isolate, and, as it were, destroy those operations of 



1762-65] UNIVERSITY LECTURES 219 

the mind which I had performed with the greatest ease from 
my youth upwards^ and this in order to understand the right 
use of them. Of the object of the world, and of God, I 
thought I knew about as much as the professor himself, and 1 
again and again he seemed to be confronted with most 
inextricable difficulties. Yet all went on tolerably well till 
towards Shrovetide, when, in the neighbourhood of Professor 
Winckler's hoyse in St. Thomas' Churchyard, the most 
delicious fritters came hot out of the pan just at the hour of 
lecture, and these delayed us so long, that our note-books 
grew meagre, and the conclusion of them, towards spring, 
melted away with the snow^ and was lost. 

Matters soon went as badly with the law lectures : for I 
already knew just as much as the professor thought good to 
communicate to us. My persistent industry in writing down 
the lectures at first, was paralyzed by degrees, for I found 
it excessively tedious to note down once more what I had 
repeated, either by question or answer, so often with my 
father as to retain it for ever in my memory. The barm 
which is done when young people at school are carried on 
too far in many branches of study, was shown still more 
clearly at a later date, when time and attention were 
diverted from linguistic exercises and essentially pre- 
paratory studies, in order to devote them to so-called 
practical subjects, which dissipate more than they cultivate 
the faculties, unless they are methodically and thoroughly 
taught. 

I here mention, in passing, another evil by which students 
are much hindered. Professors, as well as other men in 
office, cannot all be of the same age ; but as the younger 
ones, as a matter of fact, only teach in order to learn, and, 
if they have talent^ in order to be in advance of their time, 
they acquire their own education entirely at the expense of 
their hearers, since these are not taught what they really 
need, but that which the professor wishes to work out for 
his own needs. Among the oldest professors, on the 
contrary, many have long been at a standstill; they ex- 
pound on the whole only fixed views, and, in single instances, _ 
much that time has already condemned as false and useless. 
Between the two a sad conflict arises, in which young minds 
are torn hither and thither, and which can scarcely be 



220 POETRY AND TRUTH [part ii. book vi 

corrected by the middle-aged professors, who, though suffi- 
ciently well-informed and cultivated, always feel within 
themselves an active striving after further thought and 
knowledge. 

Now as in this way I learned much more than I could 
digest, which was the cause in me of an ever-increasing dis- 
comfort, so also my life laid upon me many trifling disagree- 
ables, such as everyone must endure who cqmes into new 
surroundings and relationships. The first thing the ladies 
blamed in me was my dress ; for I had come from home to 
the university rather oddly equipped. 

My father, who detested nothing so much as waste 
of time due either to lack of knowledge or lack of oppor- 
tunity to turn it to account, carried his economy of time 
and strength so far, that nothing gave him greater pleasure 
than to kill two birds with one stone. So he never 
engaged a servant who could not at the same time be 
useful in the house in some other way. Now, as he had 
always written everything with his own hand, and had, 
latterly, the convenience of dictating to his young inmate, 
he found it most advantageous to have tailors for servants ; 
these were obliged to make good use of their time, as they 
not only had to make their own liveries, but clothes for my 
father and the children, besides doing all the mending. 
My father himself saw to it that we had the best cloth and 
material, by getting the best goods from the foreign 
merchants at the fairs and laying them up in store. I still 
well remember that he always visited the house of von 
Lowenich, at Aix-la-Chapelle, and from my earliest youth 
made me acquainted with these and other eminent 
merchants. 

Thus the quality of the material was ensured, and there 
was a plentiful stock of different kinds of cloth, serge, and 
Gottingen cloth, besides the requisite kinds of lining, so that, 
as far as the material went, we need not be ashamed of our 
appearance. But the cut spoiled everything. For though 
one of our home-tailors might have been a clever hand at 
sewing and making up a coat which had been cut out for 
him by a master-hand, he was now obliged also to cut out 
the suit himself, and in this he did not always succeed to 
perfection. In addition to this, my father kept his clothing 



1762-65] UPPER GERMAN DIALECT 221 

in excellent and neat repair, giving them more care than 
use for many years. Thus he had a predilection for old- 
fashioned shapes and trimmings, which often contributed 
not a little to the oddity of our appearance. 

The wardrobe which I took with me to the university 
had been prepared on these principles : it was very complete 
and handsome, and even included a laced suit Quite 
accustomed to this kind of attire, I thought myself suffi- 
ciently well dressed ; but it was not long before my lady 
friends^ first by gentle raillery, then by rational remon- 
strances, convinced me that I looked as if I had dropped 
down from another world. Great as was my vexation, I 
did not at first see how I could help myself. But when 
Herr von Masuren, the favourite rustic poet, once entered 
the theatre in a similar costume, and was heartily laughed 
at, more by reason of the absurdities of his outer than of 
his inner man, I took courage, and ventured at once to 
exchange my whole wardrobe for a new-fashioned one, 
suited to the place, which, however, considerably diminished 
it in quantity. 

But this trial was only surmounted to give place to a 
new one, which proved to be far more unpleasant, because 
it concerned a matter not so easily doffed or exchanged. 

I had been bom and bred in the use of the Upper 
German dialect, and although my father always laboured 
after a certain purity of diction, and had always pointed out 
to us children, from our earliest youth, what may be really 
called the defects of that idiom, and so prepared us for a 
better manner of speaking, I still retained many underlying 
peculiarities, which, because they pleased me by tiieir 
fidivet'e^ I was fond of airing, incurring on every such 
occasion a severe reprimand from my new fellow-townsmen. 
An Upper German, and perhaps especially one who lives 
by the Rhine and Maine (for great rivers, like the sea-coast, 
always have a quickening influence), likes to express him- 
self in similes and allusions, and clothes a sound common- 
sense in apt proverbial sayings. In both cases he is often 
blunt, but when one grasps the drift of the expression, 
always apposite ; only something, it is true, may often slip 
in, which proves offensive to a more delicate ear. 

Every province loves its own dialect : for it is, properly 



222 POETRY AND TRUTH [part ii. book vi 

speaking, the element in which the soul dr^ws its breath. 
But everyone knows with what obstinacy the dialect of 
Meissen has contrived to domineer over the rest, and even, 
for a long time, to exclude them. We have suffered for 
many years under this pedantic tyranny, and only by 
reiterated struggles have all the provinces again established 
themselves in their ancient rights. How much an impulsive 
youth had to endure from this continual tutoring, may be 
easily inferred by anyone who considers that the alteration 
in accent, at length reluctantly conceded, involved the 
sacrifice of modes of thought, imagination, feeling, and 
native character. And this intolerable demand was made 
by cultured men and women, whose views I could not 
adopt, whose injustice I dimly felt, though I could not 
explain it even to myself. Henceforth pithy allusions to 
Biblical texts were downright forbidden me, as well as the 
use of good old expressions from the Chronicles. I had to 
forget that I had read Geiier von Kaisersberg^ and eschew 
the use of proverbs, which, without mincing matters, hit 
the nail straight on the head ; — ^all these eagerly acquired 
youthful forms were now to be abandoned ; I felt paralyzed 
to the very soul, and scarcely knew any more how to express 
myself on the most trivial topics. I was told, besides, that 
one should speak as one writes, and write as one speaks ; 
while, to me, speaking and writing seemed two absolutely 
different things, each of which might well hold its own. 
Nor would everything I heard in the Meissner dialect have 
seemed so very fine on paper. 

This decided influence exerted by men and women of 
education, by the learned, and others who delight in 
refined society, on the mind of a young student, would 
immediately convince any of our readers that we were in 
Leipzig, even if the fact had not been already mentioned. 
Each one of the German universities has an individual 
character : for, as no common form of education can spread 
through the whole of our fatherland, every place adheres to 
its own fashion, and carries out, to the last extreme, its own 
characteristic peculiarities ; the same precisely is true of the 
universities. Jena and Halle were rough in the extreme : 
strength of body, skill in fighting, unrestrained club-law, 
were there the order of the day; and such a state of 



1762-65] STUDENT-LIFE AT LEIPZIG 223 

things can only be maintained and transmitted by a general 
system of violence and unrest The relations of the 
students with the inhabitants of those towns, though they 
varied in many respects, nevertheless agreed in this, that 
the wild intruder had no regard for the citizen, and looked 
upon himself as a peculiar being, licensed to commit all 
kinds of insolence. In Leipzig, on the contrary, a student 
must needs be courteous, if he wished to have any inter- 
course with its rich, well-bred, and refined inhabitants. 

All politeness, indeed, when it is not the outcome of a 
lofty and broad-minded view of life, must appear restrained, 
unprogressive, and from "some points of view, perhaps, 
absurd ; and so those wild huntsmen from the Saale * 
thought themselves infinitely superior to the tame shepherds 
of the Pleisse.t Zacharia's Renommist will always be a 
valuable indication of the manner of life and thought at 
that time; and indeed all his poems must be invaluable 
to everyone who wishes to form a conception of the then 
prevailing state of social life and manners, a state weak 
indeed, but attractive for its innocence and childlike 
simplicity. 

All manners resulting from a given social state will have 
a character of permanence, and, in my time, many things 
still reminded us of Zacharia's epic poem. Only one of our 
fellow-academicians thought himself rich and independent 
enough to snap his fingers at public opinion. He pledged 
himself to all the hackney-coachmen, whom he allow^ed to 
sit inside the cab as if they were gentlemen, while he drove 
on the box, thought it a great joke to upset them now 
and then, and contrived to give them satisfaction for their 
smashed vehicles as. well as for their occasional bruises ; but 
otherwise offended no man, merely making a mock of the 
public en masse. Once, on a fine gala-day, he and a com- 
rade of his seized upon the donkeys of the miller of St. 
Thomas'; well-dressed, and in shoes and stockings, they 
rode around the city with the greatest solemnity, stared at 
by all the throng which filled the promenade. When some 
sensible persons remonstrated with him on the subject, he 
assured them, quite calmly, that he only wanted to see how 

* The river on which Halle and Jena lie. — Trans* 
t The river that flows by Leipzig.*— 7>««j. 



224 POETRY AND TRUTH [part ii. book vi 

the Lord Christ might have looked in a like case. Yet he 
found no imitators, and few companions. 

For students of any wealth and standing had every 
reason to show due respect to the mercantile class, and to 
be solicitous about external proprieties, since the colony * 
was a true model of French manners. The professors, 
deriving good incomes both from private property and 
from liberal salaries, were not dependent upon tiieir scholars, 
and many natives, educated at the Princes' Schools or other 
gymnasia, and hoping for preferment, did not venture to 
throw off traditional customs. The neighbourhood of 
Dresden, whence all our movements were carefully followed, 
and the genuine piety of the directors of our education, 
could not be without a moral, nay, a religious influence. 

At first this kind of life was not repugnant to me ; my 
letters of introduction had given me the entrie into good 
families, and I was well received also by their friends. I 
was soon forced to feel, however, that society had much 
to find fault with in me : after dressing in their fashion, I 
must now talk in their tongue; moreover, I could plainly see 
that my hopes of instruction and general culture to be de- 
rived from my residence at the University were not being 
fulfilled : so I began to be lazy, and to neglect the social duties 
of calls, and other such attentions ; indeed I should have 
withdrawn earlier from all such intercourse, had not fear and 
respect bound me fast to Hofrat Bohme, and confidence 
and affection to his wife. The husband, unfortunately, had 
not the happy gift of dealing with young people, of winning 
their confidence, and of guiding them, for the moment, as 
occasion might require. My visits to him were never of any 
good to me ; his wife, on the contrary, showed a genuine 
interest in me. Her ill-health kept her constantly at home. 
She invited me to spend many an evening with her, and 
knew how to put me right and correct me in many litde 
points of behaviour; for though my manners were good 
enough, I had not yet acquired much savoir-vivre. There 
was only one lady who ever spent the evenings with her, but 
she was more dictatorial and pedantic; hence I disliked 

* A large and influential portion of the inhabitants of Leipzig were 
sprung from a colony of Huguenots, who settled there after the revo- 
cation of the edict of Nantes. — Trans. 



1762-65] CONTEMPORARY GERMAN POETRY 22$ 

her exceedingly, and, to defy her, would often resume those 
unmannerly habits from which the other had already weaned 
me. Yet my good friends always had patience with me, 
taught me piquet, ombre, and similar games, the know- 
ledge and use of which are considered essential in good 
society. 

But it was in the matter of taste that Madame Bohme 
had the greatest influence upon me ; in a negative way it 
is true, yet entirely in accordance with the critics of the 
day. The stream of Gottsched's influence had so inundated 
the German world that its waters threatened to cover the 
highest mountains. It takes a long time for such a flood 
to subside again, and for the mire to dry up ; and as every 
age has its countless aping poetasters, the imitation of these 
watery platitudes produced an amount of rubbish of which 
we can barely conceive in the present day. To find that 
trash was trash was hence the greatest sport, the highest 
triumph of the critics of those days. Anyone possessing 
a little common sense, a superficial acquaintance with the 
ancients, and a somewhat closer one with the moderns, 
thought himself provided with a standard capable of 
universal application. Madame Bohme was an educated 
woman, averse to the trivial, weak and commonplace ; she 
was, besides, the wife of a man who was at war with poetry 
in general, condemning even such verse as might perhaps 
have met with her approval. She certainly listened, for 
some time, with patience, when I ventured to recite to her 
the verse or prose of famous poets, whose names already 
ranked high — for then, as always, I knew by heart every- 
thing that chanced at all to please me ; but her complaisance 
did not last long. The first work to call forth her fierce 
abuse was Die Poeten nach der Mode (Fashionable Poets), 
by Weisse, which had just been repeatedly acted with great 
success, and had delighted me very particularly. Yet a 
more careful inspection convinced me she was right. I had 
sometimes even ventured to recite to her, though anony- 
mously, some of my own poems ; but these fared no better 
than the rest. So, little by little, the beautiful gay meadows 
at the foot of the German Parnassus, where I so loved to 
wander, were mercilessly mowed down, and I was even 
compelled to toss the drying liay myself, and to ridicule as 

VOL. I. Q 



226 POETRY AND TRUTH [part ii. book vi 

lifeless that which, a short time before, had stirred within 
me a living joy. 

This teaching of hers was further confirmed, though all 
unwittingly, by Professor Morus, an extremely gentle, kindly 
man, whose acquaintance I had made at the table of Hofrat 
Ludwig, and who received me very cordially when I begged 
for the privilege of visiting him. In my conversations with 
him on the subject of the classics, I took the opportunity of 
showing him what most delighted me among the moderns. 
His opinions on this point, delivered more calmly, but, what 
was still worse, with far more competence, than Madame 
Bohme's, were for me a complete eye-opener, first to my great 
chagrin, but afterwards to my surprise, and finally to my 
edification. 

To these I may add the jeremiads, with which Gellert, 
in his classes, was wont to warn us against poetry. He liked 
us to write only prose essays, and always criticised these first. 
Verses he treated as a paltry adjunct, and worst of all, even 
my prose found little favour in his eyes ; for I still continued 
my old habit of making some little romance the groundwork 
of my writing, working it out by preference in epistolary 
form. The subjects were full of passion, the style over- 
stepped the bounds of ordinary prose, and the contents 
j probably did not display any very deep knowledge of 
/ human nature in the author; and so I stood in very 
little favour with our professor, although he carefully 
looked over my efforts with those of the others, cor- 
rected them in red ink, and here and there added 
some moral observation. Many of these essays, which 
it pleased me to keep for a long time, have, in the course 
of years, at last unfortunately disappeared from among my 
papers. 

y'^If elderly persons wish to act the pedagogue efficiently, 
./mey should neither prohibit nor render distasteful to a youth 
/ any of his pleasures, whatever they may be, unless, at the 
same time, they have something else to put in their place, or 
can contrive some distraction. Everybody protested against 
my tastes and inclinations ; and, on the other hand, what 
they commended to me, either stood so far removed from 
me that I could not discern its excellencies, or so near me 
that I thought it no whit better than the objects of their 



1762-65] DESTRUCTION OF JUVENILE POEMS 22/ 

censure. Utterly perplexed, I hoped great things from a 
lecture of Ernesti's on Cicero's De Oratore. Something, 
indeed, I learned from this lecture, but it threw no light on 
the subject which particularly concerned me. What I wanted 
was a standard by which to judge, and this seemed nowhere 
to be found, for no two thought alike, even when they 
brought forward examples; and where were we to find a basis 
of criticism when such fault could be found with a man like 
Wieland, whose delightful writing was so captivating to our 
youthful minds ? 

During this period of conflicting and destructive influ- 
ences in my life and studies, it happened that I dined daily 
at Hofrat Ludwig's. He was a physician and a botanist, 
and the society that frequented his table, with the exception 
of Morus, consisted of medical men, either just beginning 
or approaching the close of their academic course. Hence 
during these hours the conversation I heard turned exclu- 
sively on medicine or natural history, and my imagination 
was thus drawn into a perfectly new field. I heard the 
names of Haller, Linnaeus, Buffon, mentioned with great 
respect; and even if disputes often arose about mistakes 
which they were said to have made, yet in the end all differ- 
ences were forgotten out of deference to their acknowledged 
greatness. The subjects discussed were of such interest 
and weight as to enthrall my attention. By degrees I 
grew familiar with many names and copious terms, which 
I absorbed all the more readily as I was afraid to write 
down a rhyme, however spontaneously conceived, or to 
read a poem, for fear that, though pleased with it for the 
moment, I might very soon be forced, as in so many other 
cases, to condemn it. 

This uncertainty in matters of taste and judgment dis- 
turbed me more and more every day, and at last drove me to 
despair. I had brought with me those early productions of 
mine which I thought the best, partly because I hoped to 
win credit by them, partly that I might be able to test my 
progress with' greater certainty ; but I found myself in the 
miserable situation of one who is required to completely 
change his way of thinking and to renounce all that he 
has hitherto loved and appreciated. However, after some 
time, and many struggles, I was filled with such contempt 



228 POETRV AND TRUTH [part ii. BOOK vi 

for all my efforts, complete and incomplete, that one day 
I made a bonfire of all poetry, prose, plans, sketches, and 
projects on the kitchen hearth, and gave our good old land- 
lady considerable fright and anxiety by the smoke which 
pervaded the whole house. 



SEVENTH BOOK 

So much has been written about the condition of German 
literature at that time, and to such good purpose, that every- 
one who takes any interest in it can obtain full information ; 
the opinions with regard to it, too, are fairly unanimous ; so 
that anything I say about it here, in my fragmentary and 
desultory fashion, is not so much an analysis of its 
characteristics as of its relation to me. I will therefore first 
speak of those branches which especially react upon the 
public, those two hereditary foes of all easy-going life, and 
of all cheerful, self-sufficient, living poetry : — I mean, satire 
and criticism. 

In quiet times every one desires to live after his own 
fashion; the citizen wishes to carry on his trade or his 
business, and then enjoy himself; so, too, the author likes 
to produce something, see his work published, and, in the 
consciousness of having done something good and useful, 
looks, if not for remuneration, at any rate for praise. From 
this state of tranquillity the citizen is roused by the satirist, 
the author by the critic, and so it comes that peaceful 
society is rudely disturbed. 

The literary epoch in which I was born developed out 
of the preceding one by opposition, Germany, so long 
inundated by foreign people, pervaded by other nations, 
employing foreign languages in learned and diplomatic 
transactions, could not possibly cultivate her own. To- 
gether with so many new ideas, innumerable strange words 
were obtruded necessarily and unnecessarily upon her, and 
even for objects already known people were induced to make 
use of foreign expressions and turns of language. The 
Germans, brutalized by nearly two centuries of misery and con- 
fusion^ took lessons from the French in manners and from 
the Latins in the art of expression. This art ought to 

229 



230 POETRY AND TRUTH [part ii. book vii 

have been cultivated in German, since the use of French 
and Latin idioms, and their partial translation into German, 
made both their social and business style ridiculous. Besides 
this, they recklessly adopted figures of speech belonging to the 
southern languages, and employed them most extravagantly. 
In the same way the stately ceremoniousness of prince-like 
Roman citizens had been transferred to the educated circles 
in German provincial towns. As a result, they nowhere felt 
themselves at home, least of all in their own houses. 

But in this epoch works of genius had already appeared, 
and the German independence of mind and enjoyment of 
life began to assert themselves. This cheerful spirit, com- 
bined with an honest sincerity, led to the demand for purity 
and naturalness in writing, witiiout the intermixture of foreign 
words, and in accordance with the dictates of plain common 
sense. By these praiseworthy endeavours, however, the 
flood-gates were thrown open to a prolix national insipidity, 
nay, the dam was broken down, and an inundation was 
bound to follow. Meanwhile, a stiff pedantry continued for 
some time to hold sway in the four learned professions, and 
eventually, at a much later date, fled for refuge first to one 
and then to another. 

Men of parts, children of nature looking freely about 
them, had therefore two objects on which they could 
exercise their faculties, against which they could direct their 
energies, and, as the matter was of no great importance, 
vent their mischievousness ; these were, on the one hand, 
a language disfigured by foreign words, forms, and turns of 
speech ; and on the other, the worthlessness of such writings 
as had been careful to avoid those faults; but it never 
occurred to anyone that each evil was being combated by 
fostering the other. 

LiSKOW, a daring young man, first ventured to attack by 
name a shallow, silly writer, whose foolish behaviour soon 
gave him an opportunity for yet more drastic treatment. 
He then sought other subjects, invariably directing his satire 
against particular objects and persons, whom he despised 
and sought to render despicable ; indeed, he pursued them 
with passionate hatred. But his career was short; for he 
died early, and was remembered only as a restless, irregular 
youth. The talent and character shown in what he did, in 



1 765-68J LISKO W— R ABEN ER 2 3 1 

spite of the smallness of his production, may well have seemed 
valuable to his countrymen : for the Germans have always 
shown a peculiar piety towards the promise of genius 
prematurely cut off. Suffice it to say that in our early youth 
Liskow was prai^ and commended to us as an excellent 
satirist, who might justly claim preference even before the 
universally beloved Rabener. But we did not gain much 
from him ; for the only thing we discovered from his works 
was that he considered the absurd absurd, and this seemed 
to us a matter of course. 

Rabener, well educated, grown up under good school 
discipline, of a cheerful and by no means passionate or 
malicious disposition, turned to general satire. His censure 
of so-called vices and follies is the outcome of clear-sighted 
and unimpassioned common sense, and of a definite moral 
conception as to what the world ought to be. His denuncia- 
tion of faults and failings is harmless and cheerful ; and in 
order to excuse even the slight daring of his writings, he 
assumes that the attempt to improve fools by ridicule is not 
in vain. 

Rabener's personal character was such as we do not 
often meet. A thorough and strict man of business, he did 
his duty, and so gained the good opinion of his fellow- 
townsmen and the confidence of his superiors ; at the same 
time, by way of relaxation he indulged in a genial contempt 
for all that immediately surrounded him. Learned pedants, 
vain youngsters, every sort of narrowness and conceit, he 
made fun of rather than satirized, and even his fun ex- 
pressed no scorn. Just in the same way he jested about 
his own condition, his unhappiness, his life, and his 
death. 

There is little of the aesthetic in the manner in which 
this writer treats his subjects. In external form he is indeed 
varied enough, but throughout he makes too much use of 
direct irony, that is, in praising the blameworthy and blaming > 
the praiseworthy, whereas this rhetorical device should be 
adopted extremely sparingly; for, in the long run, it 
becomes annoying to the clear-sighted, perplexes the foolish, 
but appeals, it is true, to the great majority, who without 
special intellectual effort imagine themselves cleverer than 
other people. But all that he xpresents to us, whatever 



2S2 POETRY AND TRUTH [part ii. book vii 

its form, bears witness to his rectitude, ciieerfulness, and 
equanimity, so that we are always favourably impressed. 
The unbounded admiration of his own times was a con- 
sequence of these moral excellencies. 

It was natural that people should try to discover 
originals for his general descriptions and should succeed ; 
and consequently he was attacked on this score by certain 
individuals : his over-long apologies denying that his satire 
was personal, prove the annoyance to which he was 
subjected. Some of his letters do honour to him both as 
a man and an author. The confidential epistle in which he 
describes the siege of Dresden and the loss of his house, his 
effects, his writings, and his wigs, without having his 
equanimity in the least shaken or his cheerfulness clouded, 
is most estimable, although his contemporaries and fellow- 
citizens could not forgive him his happy temperament. The 
letter in which he speaks of the decay of his strength and of 
his approaching death is in the highest degree worthy of 
respect, and Rabener deserves to be honoured as a saint 
by all happy sensible people, who cheerfully accept their 
earthly lot. 

I tear myself away from him reluctantly, and merely add 
this remark: his satire refers throughout to the middle 
classes; he lets us see here and there that he is also 
acquainted with the upper classes, but does not hold it 
advisable to discuss them. It may be said that he had no 
successor ; it would be impossible to pomt to anyone at all 
equal, or even similar to him. 

Let us turn to criticism ; and first of all to the theoretic 
attempts. It is not going too far to say that idealism had 
at that time fled from the world to religion ; it was hardly 
discoverable even in ethics ; of a supreme principle in art 
no one had a notion. They put Gottsched's Critical Art of 
Poetry into our hands ; it was useful and instructive enough, 
for it gave us historical information about the various kinds 
of poetry, as well as about rhythm and its different move- 
ments ; poetic genius was taken for granted I But besides 
this the poet was to have education, and even learning, he 
should possess taste, and other things of the same nature.. 
Finally, we were referred to Horace's Art of Poetry ; we 
gazed at single golden maxims of this invaluable work with 



1765-68] GOTTSCHED — BREITINGER . 233 

veneration, but did not know in the least what to do with 
it as a whole, or how to use it. 

The Swiss came to the front as Gottsched's antagonists ; 
hence they must intend to do something different, to 
accomplish something better: accordingly we heard that 
they were, in fact, superior. Breitinger's Critical Art of 
Poetry was now studied. Here we entered a wider field, 
or, properly speaking, only a greater labyrinth, which was 
the more wearisome^ as an able man in whom we had con- 
fidence drove us about in it Let a brief review justify 
th^se words. 

As yet no one had been able to discover the essential 
principle of poetry ; it was too spiritual and too evanescent. 
Painting, an art which one could keep within sight, and 
follow step by step with the external senses, seemed more 
adapted to such an end ; the English and French had already 
theorized about the arts of painting and sculpture, and it was 
thought possible to explain the nature of poetry by drawing 
a comparison from these arts. Painting presented images 
to the eyes, poetry to the imagination; poetical images, 
therefore, were the first thing to be taken into consideration. 
Parables came first, then descriptions and whatever it was 
possible to represent to the external senses came under 
discussion. 

Images, then ! But whence should these images be taken 
except from nature? The painter obviously imitated nature ; 
why not the poet also ? But nature, just as she is, cannot 
be imitated : she contains so much that is insignificant and 
unsuitable, that a selection must be made ; but what deter- 
mines the choice ? what is important must be selected ; but 
what is important ? 

The answer to this question the Swiss probably took a 
long time to consider : for they arrived at an idea which is 
indeed strange, but pretty, even amusing; for they said 
what is new is always most important: and after they 
had considered this for a while, they discovered that the 
marvellous is always newer than anything else. 

Apparently they now had the essentials of poetry before 
them, but it had further to be taken into consideration that 
the marvellous may be barren and without human interest. 
This human interest which is indispensable must be moral. 



y 



234 POETRY AND TRUTH [part ii. book vii 

and would then obviously tend to the improvement of man ; 
hence that poem would fulfil its ultimate aim which in addition 
to its other merits possessed utility. It was the fulfilment of 
all these demands which constituted the test they wished to 
apply to the various kinds of poetry, and that species which 
imitated nature, and furthermore was marvellous, and at the 
same time moral in purpose and effect, they placed first and 
highest. And after much deliberation this great pre-eminence 
was finally ascribed, with the utmost conviction, to -t^sop's 
fables ! 

Strange as such a deduction may now appear, it had the 
most decided influence on the best minds. That Gellert 
and subsequently Lichtwer devoted themselves to this 
department of literature, that even Lessing attempted to do 
work in it, that so many others applied their talents to it, 
speaks for the faith they put in this species of poetry. 
Theory and practice always act upon each other ; one can 
see from men's works what opinions they hold ; and, from 
their opinions, it is possible to predict what they will do. 

Yet we must not dismiss our Swiss theory without doing 
it justice. BoDMER, with all the pains he took, remained in 
theory and practice a child all his life. Breitinger was an 
able, learned, sagacious man, who, after making a careful 
survey, recognized all the requirements to be fulfilled by a 
poem ; in fact, it can be shown that he was dimly conscious 
of the deficiencies of his system. Noteworthy, for instance, 
is his query, whether a certain descriptive poem by 
Konig, on the Review Camp of Augustus the Second, is 
properly speaking a poem ? and the answer to it displays 
good sense. But it may serve for his complete justification 
that, after starting on a wrong track and nearly completing 
his circle, he yet discovers the main issue, and at the end 
of his book, as a kind of supplement, feels it incumbent 
on him to urge the representation of manners, character, 
passions, in short the inner man — which surely constitutes 
the chief theme of poetry. 

It may well be imagined into what perplexity young 
minds were thrown by such maxims torn from their con- 
texts, half-understood laws, and random dogmas. We clung 
to examples, and there, too, were no better off; the foreign 
as well as the classical ones were too remote from us ; behind 



1765-68] GiJNTHER— VON KONIG 235 

the best native ones always lurked a distinct individuality, 
the good points of which we could not arrogate to -ourselves, 
and into the faults of which we could not but be afraid of 
falling. For anyone conscious of productive power it was a 
desperate condition. 

When one considers carefully what was wanting in Ger- 
man poetry, it was a significant theme, especially of 
national import ; there was never any lack of gifted writers. 
It is only necessary to mention Gunther, who may be 
called a poet in the full sense of the word. A decided 
genius, endowed with sensuousness, imagination, memory, 
the gifts of conception and representation, productive in the 
highest degree, possessing rhythmic fluency, ingenious, witty, 
and at the same time well-informed ;— he possessed, in short, 
all the requisites for creating by his poetry a second life out 
• of the actual commonplace life around him. We admire the 
great facility with which, in his occasional poems, he ennobles 
all situations by appealing to the emotions, and embellishes 
them with suitable sentiments, images, and historical and fabu- 
lous traditions. The roughness and wildness in them belong 
to his time, his mode of life, and especially to his character, or, 
if you will, his want of character. He did not know how to 
curb himself, and so his Hfe, like his poetry, proved ineffectual. 

By his vacillating conduct, Giinther had trifled away the 
good fortune of being appointed at the Court of Augustus 
the Second, where, with their love of magnificence, they 
desired to find a laureate who would impart warmth and 
grace to their festivities, and immortalize a transitory pomp. 
Von Konig was more self-controlled and more fortunate; 
he filled this post with dignity and success. 

In all sovereign states the material for poetry begins with 
the highest social ranks, and Das Lustlager bei MuhWerg 
(^Review Camp at Muhiberg) was, perhaps, the first worthy 
subject of provincial, if not of national importance which 
presented itself to a poet. Two kings saluting one another 
in the presence of a great host, their whole court and military 
state around them, well-appointed troops, a sham-fight, fites 
of all kinds, — here was plenty to captivate the senses, and 
matter enough and to spare for descriptive poetry. 

This subject, indeed, suffered from an inner defect, in 
that it was only pomp and show, from which no real action 



236 POETRY AND TRUTH [part ii. book vii 

could result. None except the very highest were involved, 
and even if this had not been the case, the poet could 
not render anyone conspicuous lest he should offend the 
others. He had to consult the Court and State Calendar^ 
and the delineation of the persons was therefore not par- 
ticularly exciting ; nay, even his contemporaries reproached 
him with having described the horses better than the men. 
But should not the fact that he showed his art as soon as a 
fitting subject presented itself redound to his credit ? The 
main difficulty, too, seems soon to have become apparent to 
him — for the poem never advanced beyond the first canto. 
/ " Amidst such studies and reflections, an unexpected event 
^surprised ine, and frustrated my laudable design of becoming 
acquainted with our modem literature at the outset. My 
countryman, Johann Georg Schlosser, after working in- 
dustriously during his academic years, had entered the 
legal profession in the usual way at Frankfort-on-the-Maine, 
but his aspiring mind, interested in generalities rather than 
particulars, could not accommodate itself to this situation for 
many reasons. He accepted, without hesitation, a post as 
private secretary to Duke Ludwig of WOrtemberg, who re- 
sided in Treptow ; for the Prince was one of those great men 
whose aim was to work nobly and independently for their 
own enlightenment and that of their families and the world 
at large, and to foster united effort fo. high ends. It was 
this Prince Ludwig who had written to Rousseau to ask 
advice about the education of his children, and received the 
famous answer beginning with the ominous phrase — ** *S/ 
f avals le malheur d*itre nt prince r 

Schlosser now undertook, if not to direct the affairs of 
the Prince, at any rate to assist willingly in their conduct, as 
well as in the education of his children. This noble young 
man, who cherished the highest aims and strove to preserve 
absolute purity of morals, might perhaps have repelled 
people by a certain dry austerity, if his fine and rare literary 
culture, his knowledge of languages, and his facility in 
expressing himself both in verse and prose, had not attracted 
everyone, and made living with him agreeable. I had 
been informed that he would pass through Leipzig, and I 
anxiously expected him. He arrived and put up at a little 
inn or wine-house that stood in the Bruhl (Marsh), and was 



1765-68J SCHLOSSER 237 

kept by a man named Schonkopf. This man had a wife 
from Frankfort, and although he entertained few persons 
during the rest of the year, and could lodge no guests in his 
little house, yet at fair-time he was visited by many Frank- 
forters, who used to dine there, and, in case of need, take 
quarters there also. Thither I hastened to find Schlosser, 
when he had sent to inform me of his arrival. I scarcely 
remembered having seen him before, and found a young, 
well-built man, with a round, puckered-up face, but with 
features still retaining their definiteness of contour. The 
shape of his rounded forehead, between the black eyebrows 
and black locks, indicated earnestness, sternness, and per- 
haps obstinacy. He was, in a certain measure, the opposite 
of myself, and this very fact doubtless laid the foundation of 
our lasting friendship. I had the greatest respect for his 
talents, the more so as I saw plainly that in the certainty 
of aim shown in all his actions he was undoubtedly my 
superior. The respect and the confidence which I showed 
him confirmed his affection, and increased the indulgence 
demanded by my lively, impetuous, and excitable disposition, 
which was such a contrast to his own. He studied the 
English writers diligently; Pope, if not his model, was 
the object of his attention, and in refutation of that author's 
Essay on Man, he had written a poem in the same form and 
measure in which the Christian religion was to triumph over 
the deism of the earlier work. From the great store of 
papers which he carried with him, he showed me poetical 
and prose compositions in all languages, which challenged me 
to imitation, and once more caused me infinite disquietude. 
Yet I found an immediate remedy in activity. I wrote 
German, French, English and Italian poems, addressed to 
him on themes suggested by our conversations which were 
invariably significant and instructive. 

Schlosser did not wish to leave Leipzig without having 
seen face to face the men whose names were well known. 
I willingly introduced him to those I knew; with those 
whom I had not yet visited, I became honourably acquainted 
by this means, since he was received with distinction as a 
well-informed man of established character, and was well 
able to provide his contribution to the conversation. I can- 
not pass over our visit to Gotisched, as it throws light on 



238 POETRY AND TRUTH [part ii. book vii 

the character and habits of that man. He lived very respec- 
tably in the first storey of the Golden Bear, where the elder 
Breitkopf had promised him a lodging for life, in view of 
the great profit which Gottsched's writings, translations, 
and other contributions had brought to the firm. 

We were announced. The servant conducted us into a 
large chamber, saying his master would come immediately. 
Whether we misunderstood a gesture which he made, I 
cannot say; at any rate, we thought he directed us into 
an adjoining room. We entered, and beheld a singular 
scene ; for, on the instant, Gottsched, a tall, broad, gigantic 
man, came in at the opposite door in a dressing-gown of 
green damask lined with red taffeta ; but his enormous head 
was bald and uncovered. This omission, however, was to 
be immediately supplied ; for the servant sprang in at a side- 
door with a great full-bottomed wig in his hand (the curls 
came down to the elbows), and handed the head-decoration 
to his master with gestures of alarm. Gottsched, without 
manifesting the least vexation, raised the wig from the 
servant's arm with his left hand, swung it very dexterously 
on to his head, and at the same time gave the poor fellow 
such a box on the ear with his right fist, that the latter 
went spinning out at the door in true comedy style ; where- 
upon the venerable patriarch invited us quite gravely to be 
seated, and maintained a somewhat lengthy discourse with 
great propriety. 

As long as Schlosser remained in Leipzig, I dined daily 
with him, and became acquainted with a very pleasant 
set of men who met at the same table. Some Livonians, 
and the son of Hermann (chief court-preacher in Dresden), 
afterwards burgomaster in Leipzig, and their tutors ; Hofrat 
Pfeil, author of the Count von F.^ a companion-piece to 
Gellert's Swedish Countess; ZACHARiiE, a brother of the 
poet ; and Krebel, editor of geographical and genealogical 
manuals; — all these were well-bred, cheerful, and friendly 
men. Zacharia was the most silent, Pfeil, an accomplished 
man, who had something almost diplomatic about him, yet 
without affectation, and of great good-humour; Krebel, 
a veritable Falstaff, tall, corpulent, fair, with prominent, 
bright, sky-blue eyes, always happy and in good spirits. 
These persons all treated me with the greatest politeness. 



1765-68] LESSING— WIELAND— KLOPSTOCK . 239 

partly on Schlosser's account — partly, too, on account of 
my own frank good-humour and obliging disposition ; and 
it needed no great persuasion to make me eat at their 
table in future. In fact, I remained with them after 
Schlosser's departure, deserted Ludwig's table, and found 
myself much better off in this society, which was limited 
to a certain number, particularly as the daughter of the 
house, a very nice, pretty girl, pleased me greatly, and gave 
me an opportunity for the exchange of friendly glances — 
a pleasure which I had neither sought nor accidentally 
enjoyed since the mischance with Gretchen. I spent the 
dinner-hours with my friends cheerfully and profitably. 
Krebel was really fond of me, and used to teaze me and 
excite me in moderation; Pfeil, on the contrary, showed 
his serious affection for me by trying to direct and form 
my judgment on various subjects. 

During this intercourse, as a result of discussions, 
examples, and my own reflection, I came to see that the 
first step towards escape from the wishy-washy, long-winded, . 
empty epoch could be taken only by definiteness, precision, 
and brevity. In the style which had hitherto prevailed, 
it was impossible to distinguish the commonplace from 
what was better, since a uniform insipidity prevailed on 
all hands. Authors had already tried to escape from this 
widespread disease, with more or less success. Haller 
and Ramler were inclined to compression by nature; 
Lessing and Wieland were led to it by reflection. The 
former became by degrees quite epigrammatic in his poems, 
terse in Minna, laconic in Emilia Galoiti^ — it was not till 
later that he returned to that serene ndivete which becomes 
him so well in Nathan, Wieland, who had been occasionally 
prolix in Agathotiy Dm Sylvio, and the Comic Tales, became 
wonderfully condensed and precise, as well as exceedingly 
graceful, in Musarion and Idris, Klopstock, in the first 
cantos of the Messiah, is not without diffuseness; in his 
Odes and other minor poems he appears concise, as also 
in his tragedies. By his emulation of the ancients, especially 
Tacitus, he was constantly forced into narrower limits, so 
that at last he became obscure and impleasing. Gersten- 
BERG, a rare but eccentric genius, also concentrated his 
powers ; one feels his merit, but on the "whole he gives 



240 POETRY AND TRUTH [part ii. book vii 

little pleasure. Gleim, by nature diffuse and easy-going, 
was scarcely once concise in his war-songs. Ramler was 
properly more of a critic than a poet. He began, to col- 
lect what the Germans had accomplished in lyric poetry. 
He discovered that scarcely one poem entirely satisfied him ; 
he was obliged to omit, rearrange, and alter, so that the things 
might assume some sort of form. By this means he made 
himself almost as many enemies as there are poets and 
amateurs, since everyone, properly speaking, recognizes 
himself only in his defects ; and the public takes greater 
interest in a faulty individuality than in what is produced 
or amended in accordance with a universal law of taste. 
Rhythm was still in its cradle, and no one knew of a method 
to shorten its childhood. Poetical prose was gaining ground. 
Gessner and Klopstock found many imitators; others, 
again, still put in a plea for metre, and translated this prose 
into intelligible rhythms. But even these emended versions 
gave nobody satisfaction; for they were obliged to omit 
and add, and the prose original always passed for the better 
of the two. But in all these attempts the greater the con- 
ciseness aimed at, the more possible is it to criticize them, 
since whatever is significant when presented in a condensed 
form, in the end admits of definite comparison. Another 
result was the simultaneous appearance of a number of truly 
poetical forms; for while attempting to reproduce solely 
whatever was essential in any one subject, it was necessar)' 
to do justice to every subject chosen for treatment, and 
hence, though none did it consciously, the modes of re- 
presentation were multiplied ; though some were grotesque 
enpugh, and many an experiment proved unsuccessfuL 
' Without question, Wieland possessed the finest natural 
/'^gifts of all. He had developed early in those ideal regions 
/ in which youth loves to linger; but when so-called ex- 
perience, contact with the world and women, spoilt his 
delight in those realms, he turned to the actual, and derived 
pleasure for himself and others from the conflict between the 
two worlds, where, in light encounters, half in earnest, half 
in jest, his talent found fullest scope. How many of his 
brilliant productions appeared during my student days! 
Musarion had the greatest effect upon me, and I can yet 
remember the iflace and the very spot where I looked at 



1765-68] WIELAND AND HIS CRITICS 24 1 

the first proof-sheet, which Oeser showed me. It was here 
that I seemed to see antiquity living anew before me. 
Everything that is plastic in Wieland's genius showed itself 
here in the highest perfection ; and since the Timon-Uke hero 
Phanias, after being condemned to unhappy abstinence, is 
finally reconciled to his mistress and to the world, we may 
be content to live through the misanthropic epoch with 
him. For the rest, we were not sorry to recognize in these 
works a cheerful aversion to exalted sentiments, which 
are apt to be wrongly applied to life, and then frequently 
fall under the suspicion of fanaticism. We pardoned the 
author for pursuing with ridicule what we held to be true 
and venerable, the more readily, as he thereby showed that 
he was unable to disregard it. 

What a miserable reception was accorded such efforts by 
the criticism of the time may be seen from the first volumes 
of the Universal German LiWary. Honourable mention is 
made there of the Comic Tales, but there is no trace of any 
insight into the character of the literary species. The 
reviewer, like everyone at that time, had formed his taste 
on examples. He never takes into consideration that in 
criticizing such parodistical works, it is necessary first of 
all to have the noble, beautiful original before one's eyes, 
in order to see whether the parodist has really discovered 
in it a weak and comical side, whether he has borrowed 
anything from it, or whether, under the pretence of imitation, 
he has given us an excellent invention of his own. Of all 
this there is not a word, but isolated passages in the poems 
are praised or blamed. The reviewer, as he himself con- 
fesses, has marked so much that pleased him, that he cannot 
quote it all in print. When they go so far as to greet the 
exceedingly meritorious translation of Shakspeare with the 
exclamation : " By rights, a man like Shakspeare should 
not have been translated at all!" it will be understood, 
without further remark, how immeasurably the Universal 
German Library was behindhand in matters of taste, and 
that young people, animated by true feehng, had to look 
about them for other guiding stars. 

The subject-matter which in this manner more or less 
determined the form, was sought by the Germans in the 
most varied quarters. They had handled few national 

VOL. I. R 



242 POETRY AND TRUTH [part ii. book vii 

subjects, or none at all. SchlegeFs Hermann only pointed 
V the way. The idyllic tendency had immense vogue. The 
want of distinctive character in Gessner, with all his grace- 
fulness and childlike sincerity, made everyone think him- 
self capable of the like. In the same manner, those poems 
which were intended to portray a foreign nationality were 
founded merely on a common humanity, as, for instance, 
the Jewish pastoral poems, all those on patriarchal 
subjects, and any others based on tlie Old Testament 
Bodmer's Noachide was a perfect type of the watery deluge 
that swelled high around the German Parnassus, and abated 
but slowly. The dallyings of Anacreon likewise made it 
possible for numberless mediocre writers to meander 
aimlessly in a vague prolixity. The precision of Horace 
compelled the Germans, though but slowly, to conform to 
him. Neither did the burlesques, modelled, for the most 
part, on Pope's Rape of the Lock, succeed in inaugurating 
better times. 

Yet I must here mention a delusion, which was taken as 
seriously as it appears ridiculous on closer inspection. The 
Germans had now an adequate historical knowledge of all 
the kinds of poetry in which the various nations had excelled. 
This assignment of poetry to its respective pigeon-holes — 
a process in reality fatal to its true spirit — had been accom- 
plished with approximate completeness by Gottsched in his 
Critical Art of Poetry, and at the same time he had shown 
that in all the divisions were to be found excellent works 
by German poets. And so it went on. Every year the 
collection became more considerable, but every year one 
work ousted some other from the place in which it had 
hitherto shone. We now possessed, if not Homers, yet 
Virgils and Miltons ; if not a Pindar, yet a Horace ; of 
Theocrituses there was no lack; and thus they soothed 
themselves by comparisons from abroad, whilst the mass of 
poetical works constantly increased, so that at last it was 
possible to make comparisons at home. 

Now, though matters of taste stood on a very uncertain 
footing, there could be no denying that within the Protestant 
part of Germany and of Switzerland, what is generally 
called common-sense showed signs of vigorous life at that 
epoch. The scholastic philosophy — which at any rate has 



1765-68] POPULAR PHILOSOPHY 243 

the merit of treating everything of interest to men according 
to accepted principles, on accredited lines, under definite 
headings — had, by the frequent obscurity and apparent 
unprofitableness of its teaching, by its unseasonable applica- 
tion of a method in itself estimable, and by its too great 
comprehensiveness, become alien, displeasing, and, finally, 
superfluous to the majority. Many a man became convinced 
that nature had endowed him with the modicum of good 
plain sense requisite for forming a clear conception of things, 
such as would enable him to cope with them and conduct 
himself in relation to them to his own advantage and that 
of others, without necessarily troubling himself about 
ultimate principles, and without inquiring into the connec- 
tion of the most remote things, which do not particularly 
concern us. Men made the experiment, opened their eyes, 
looked straight before them, were observant, industrious, 
active, and believed that if they reasoned and acted rightly 
in their own sphere, they might venture to have an opinion 
on other matters, less close at hand. 

In accordance with this theory, everyone was now 
entitled, not only to philosophize, but also in course of 
time to consider himself a philosopher. Philosophy was, 
therefore, a more or less sane and practical common-sense, 
which ventured to discuss general principles and dogmatize 
about inner and external experiences. The clear-sighted 
discrimination and decided moderation of writings and 
oral pronouncements of this sort — for the via media and 
fairness towards all opinions was deemed the only right 
course — inspired esteem and confidence ; and thus eventu- 
ally philosophers were to be found in all the professions, 
nay more, in all classes and trades. 

In this way the theologians inevitably tended towards 
what is called natural religion, and when the question was 
discussed how far the light of nature may suffice to advance 
us in the knowledge of God and the improvement and 
ennobling of man, they usually ventured to decide in its 
favour without much hesitation. From the same principle 
of moderation, they assigned equal rights to all positive 
religions, with the result that they all became equally 
unimportant and uncertain. For the rest, everything was 
allowed to stand, and since the Bible is so full of meaning. 



244 POETRY AND TRUTH [part ii. book vii 

that it surpasses every other book, in oflfering material for 
reflection and opportunity for meditation on human affairs, 
it could still, as before, be made the foundation of all 
sermons and other religious treatises. 

But a singular fate, which, in course of time, was not to 
be averted, was awaiting this book as well as the whole 
body of profane literature. Hitherto it had been accepted 
as a matter of implicit faith, that this book of books was 
composed in one spirit; nay, more, that it was inspired, 
and, as it were, dictated by the Divine Spirit. But for a 
long time the discrepancies of the different parts had been 
now criticized, now defended, by believers and unbelievers. 
Englishmen, Frenchmen, and Germans had attacked the Bible 
with more or less violence, acumen, audacity, and malicious- 
ness; and again and again it had been taken under the 
protection of earnest, high-minded men of each nation. 
As for myself, I loved and valued it ; for to it almost alone 
did I owe my moral education, and the events, the doctrines, 
the symbols, the similes, had all impressed themselves 
deeply upon me, and had influenced me in one way or 
another. These unjust, scoffing, and perversive attacks, 
therefore, displeased me; but people were already suffi- 
ciently advanced to be glad to assume, partly as a cogent 
ground of defence for many passages, that God had 
accommodated himself to human modes of thought and 
powers of comprehension ; that even those moved by the 
Spirit had not on that account been able to renounce 
their individuality; and that Amos, a cowherd, does not 
use the language of Isaiah, who is said to have been a 
prince. 

From such views and convictions, aided by the con- 
stantly increasing knowledge of languages, there naturally 
developed that branch of study which attempted to in- 
vestigate more accurately oriental localities, nationalities, 
natural products, and phenomena, and so make it possible 
to picture that ancient time. Michaelis applied the whole 
strength of his talents and his knowledge to this subject. 
Descriptions of travels contributed greatly to the interpreta- 
tion of the Holy Scriptures, and later travellers were sup- 
plied with numerous questions, so that, by the answers to 
rthem, they might bear witness for the prophets and apostles. 



1765-68] STATE OF THEOLOGY 245 

In this way an effort was being made on all hands to 
bring the Holy Scriptures into a natural light, and to render 
modes of thought and representation peculiar to them more 
generally intelligible, so that by this historico- critical aspect 
many objections might be removed, much that was offen- 
sive effaced, and all shallow scoffing be made ineffective. 
At the same time a tendency in the opposite direction was 
apparent : there were men who chose the darkest, most 
mysterious writings as the subject of their meditations, and 
wished, not to elucidate them, but to corroborate them by 
internal evidence, by conjectures, calculations, and other 
ingenious and strange combinations, and so far as they con- 
tained prophecies, to confirm them by the events, and 
thus to justify a faith in what was to be expected in the near 
future. 

The venerable Bengel had procured a wide acceptance 
of his commentary on the Revelation of St. John, from 
being known as an intelligent, upright. God-fearing, and 
blameless man. Deep thinkers are compelled to live in the 
past as well as in the future. The ordinary movements 
of the world can be of no importance to them, if they 
do not give reverent heed both to prophecies which have 
been verified in the course of ages down to the present 
time, as well as to predictions still wrapped in obscurity, 
as to the immediate and also the most remote future. 
Hence arises a continuity that is wanting in history, which 
seems to tell us only of fortuitous action and reaction in a 
necessarily lilnited sphere. Doctor Crusius was one of 
those who was more interested in the prophetic part of 
Scripture than in any other, since it calls into play the two 
most opposite quaUties of the human mind, the feelings and 
the intellect. Many young men had espoused this point of 
view, and already formed a considerable body, which 
attracted the more attention, as Ernesti and his followers 
threatened, not to illuminate, but completely to disperse the 
obscurity in which they delighted. Hence arose con- 
troversies, hatred, persecution, and much that was un- 
pleasant. I adhered to the partisans of enlightenment, and 
sought to appropriate to myself their principles and ad- 
vantages, although I ventured to forebode, that by this 
extremely praiseworthy, intelligent method of interpretation 



246 POETRY AND TRUTH [part ii. book vii 

the poetic value of the writings would eventually be lost, 
together with their prophetic significance. 

But those who devoted themselves to German literature 
and belles lettres were more in sympathy with the efforts 
of men like Jerusalem, Zollikofer, and Spalding, who 
endeavoured in their sermons and treatises, by purity and 
nobility of style, to awaken among persons of sense and 
taste feelings of approbation and affection for religion, 
and for ethical teaching, so closely related to it. A pleasing 
manner of writing began to be absolutely essential, the first 
requisite of which was intelligibility; consequently writers 
arose, on many sides, who undertook to write about their 
studies and their professions clearly, perspicuously, and im- 
pressively, for adepts as well as for the multitude. 

Following the example of Tissot, a foreigner, the phy- 
sicians also began to contribute their share to general culture. 
Hallfr, Unzer, Zimmerman had very great influence, and 
whatever may be said against them in detail, especially the 
last, they made a decided mark in their time. They should 
be made the subject of history, but especially of bio- 
graphy ; for the lasting importance of a man consists not so 
much in what he leaves behind him as in his activity and 
enjoyment, and the way in which he stimulates activity and 
enjoyment in others. 

The jurists, accustomed from their youth upwards to 
a grotesque, abstruse style, invariably employed in all 
legal papers, from the petty court of the Independent 
Knight up to the Imperial Diet at Ratisboh, found it diffi- 
cult to attain to any degree of freedom of expression, the 
more so as the subjects of which they had to treat were 
most intimately connected with external form, and conse- 
quently also with style. Yet the younger von Moser 
had already shown himself an independent and original 
writer, and Putter, by the clearness of his delivery, had 
also brought clearness into his subject and the style in 
which he treated it. The productions of all his pupils were 
distinguished by the same qualities. And even the philo- 
sophers, if they wished to be popular, found themselves 
compelled to write clearly and intelligibly. Mendelsohn 
and Garve appeared, and excited universal interest and 
admiratior>. 



1765-68] "HUNTING FOR IMAGES" 247 

With the cultivation of the German language and style 
in every department, the power of criticism also increased, 
and we admire the reviews then published of works upon 
religious and ethical, as well as medical subjects ; while, on 
the other hand, we remark that the critiques of poems, and 
of whatever else relates to belles lettres, will be found, 
if not pitiful, at least very feeble. This holds good of tiie 
Literaturbiiefe {Literary Epistles), and of the Universal 
German Library, as well as of the Library of Belles Lettres, 
and might easily be verified by notable instances. 

However great the confusion of these varied efforts, the 
only thing to be done by anyone who contemplated pro- 
ducing anything original, and was not content to take the 
words and phrases out of the mouths of his predecessors, 
was to search unremittingly for some subject-matter for 
treatment. Here, too, we were greatly misled. People were 
constantly repeating a saying of Kleist's, which we had to 
hear often enough. He had replied playfully, with humour 
and truth, to those who took him to task on account of his 
frequent lonely walks : " that he was not idle at such times, — 
he was hunting for images." This simile was very suitable 
for a nobleman and soldier, for in it he contrasted himself 
with men of his own rank, who never missed an opportunity 
of going out, with their guns on their shoulders, to shoot 
hares and partridges. Accordingly we find in Kleist's poems 
many such individual images, happily seized, although not 
always happily elaborated, which remind us pleasantly of 
nature. But now we, too, were admonished quite seriously 
to go out hunting for images, and in the end to some slight 
purpose, although Apel's Garden, the Cake Gardens, the 
Rosental, Gohlis, Raschwitz and Konnewitz, would be the 
oddest ground in which to beat up poetical game. And yet 
I was often induced from this motive to contrive that my 
walk should be solitary, and, because few either beautiful 
or sublime objects met the eye of the beholder, and in 
the truly splendid Rosental, the gnats in summer-time 
made all gentle thoughts impossible, by dint of unwearied, 
persevering endeavour, I became extremely attentive to 
the small life of nature, (I should like to use this word 
after the analogy of "still life,") and since the charming 
little incidents to be observed within this circle are but 



248 POETRY AND TRUTH [PART 11. book vn 

unimportant in themselves, I accustomed myself to see in 
them a significance, tending now towards the symbolical 

^ and now towards the allegorical, according as intuition, 
feeling, or reflection predominated. I will relate one 

. incident, in place of many. 

I was, after the fashion of humanity, in love with my 
name, and, as young uneducated people commonly do, I 
wrote it everywhere. Once I had carved it very beautifully 
and carefully on the smooth bark of a lime-tree of moderate 
age. The following autumn, when my affection for Annette * 
was in its fullest bloom, I took pains to cut hers above it. 
Towards the end of the winter, however, being a capricious 
lover, I had seized many opportunities to teaze her and 
cause her vexation; in the spring I chanced to visit the 
spot, and the sap, which was rising strongly in the trees, 
had welled out through the incisions which formed her 
name, and which were not yet crusted over, and moistened 
with the tree's innocent tears the already hardened traces 
of my own. To see her here thus weeping over me, — me, 
who had so often called up her tears by my ill-conduct, 
filled me with consternation. At the remembrance of my 
injustice and of her love, the tears even came into my eyes, 
I hastened to implore pardon of her, doubly and trebly, 
and I turned this incident into an idyl, which I never 
could read to myself without pleasure, or to others without 
emotion. 

Whilst I was playing the part of shepherd on the Pleisse, 
and was childishly absorbed in such tender subjects, always 
choosing such only as I could easily recapture and lock in 
my heart, greater and more important themes had long 
before been provided for German poets. 
/ It was Frederick the Great and the events of the Seven 

^Years' War which first gave to German literature a real and 
noble vitality. All national poetry cannot fail to be insipid, 
or inevitably becomes so, if it is not based on the man who 
stands first among men, upon the experiences which come 
to the nations and their leaders, when both stand together 
as one man. Kings should be represented in the midst of 
warfare and danger, for there they are made to appear the 
highest, just because the fate of the lowest depends upon 
♦ Kathchen Schonkopf, see p. 239. 



1765-68] FREDERICK THE GREAT 249 

them and is shared by them. In this way they become far 
more interesting than the gods themselves, who, when they 
have decided the destinies of men, do not share them. In 
this sense every nation that wishes to count for anything 
ought to possess an epic, though not necessarily in the form 
of an epic poem. 

The war-songs first sung by Gleim deserve their high 
place in German poetry, because they were the outcome 
of and contemporary with the events they celebrate; and 
furthermore, because the felicitous form, suggestive of a 
combatant's utterance in the thick of the fray, impresses us 
with its absolute effectiveness. 

Ramler sings in different but dignified strains the ex- 
ploits of his king. All his poems are thoughtful, and fill 
our minds with great and elevating subjects, and on that 
account alone possess an indestructible value. 

For the significance of the subject treated of is the 
Alpha and Omega of art Yet no one will deny that genius, 
or cultivated artistic talent, can by its method of treat- 
ment make anything out of anything, and render the most 
refractory subject amenable. But on close inspection the 
result is rather an artistic feat than a work of art, which 
latter should be based on a fitting subject, so that in the 
end the skill, the care, the diligence of the artist's treatment 
only brings out the dignity of the subject in greater attrac- 
tiveness and splendour. 

Prussians, and with them Protestant Germany, therefore 
gained a treasure-trove for their literature, which was lacking 
to the other party, who were unable to repair its loss by 
subsequent efforts. In the high idea which they cherished 
of their King, the Prussian writers first found inspiration, 
and fostered it all the more zealously because he in whose 
name they did everything would have nothing whatever to 
say to them. French civilization had been widely intro- 
duced into Prussia at an earlier date by the French colony, 
and again later by the King's preference for French culture 
and French financial methods. The effect of this French 
influence was to rouse the Germans to antagonism and 
resistance — a. result decidedly beneficial in its operation. 
Equally fortunate for the development of literature was 
Frederick's antipathy to German. They did everything to 



2 so POETRY AND TRUTH [part ii. book vii 

attract the King's attention, not indeed to be honoured, but 
only to be noticed by him ; yet they did it in German fashion, 
from inner conviction ; they did what they held to be right, 
and desired and wished that the King should recognize and 
prize this German right. That did not and could not 
happen ; for how can it be expected that a king, who wishes 
to live and enjoy himself intellectually, should waste his 
years waiting to see what he thinks barbarous developed 
and rendered enjoyable too late? In matters of trade 
and manufacture, it is true, he pressed upon himself, but 
especially upon his people, very mediocre substitutes instead 
of excellent foreign wares; but in this department of life 
everything is perfected more rapidly, and it does not take 
a man's life-time to bring such things to maturity. 

But I must here, first of all, make honourable mention of 
one work, the most genuine product of the Seven Years' 
War, altogether North German in its national sentiment ; it 
is the first dramatic work founded upon important events of 
specific temporary value, and therefore produced an incal- 
culable effect, — Minna von Barnhelm, Lessing, who, unlike 
Klopstock and Gleim, was fond of laying aside his personal 
dignity, because he was confident that he could resume it at 
any moment, delighted in a dissipated, worldly life and the 
society of taverns, as he always needed some strong external 
excitement to counterbalance his exuberant intellectual 
activity ; and for this reason also he had joined the suite of 
General Tauentzien. It is easy to see how the drama just 
mentioned was generated betwixt war and peace, hatred 
and affection. It was this production which successfully 
opened to the literary and middle-class world, in which 
poetic art had hitherto moved, a view into a higher, more 
significant world. 

The hostile relations in which Prussians and Saxons had 
stood towards each other during this war, could not be 
removed by its termination. The Saxon now felt for the 
first time the whole bitterness of the wounds which the 
upstart Prussian had inflicted upon him. Political peace 
could not immediately re-establish a peace between their 
hearts. But the establishment of this peace was represented 
symbolically in the above-mentioned drama. The grace 
and amiability of the Saxon ladies conquer the worth, the 



1765-68] GOETHE'S LITERARY ATTEMPTS 25 1 

dignity, and the stubbornness of the Prussians, and, in the 
principal as well as in the subordinate characters, a happy 
union of bizarre and contradictory elements is artistically 
represented. 

If I have caused my readers some bewilderment by these 
cursory and desultory remarks on German literature, I have 
succeeded in giving them a conception of the chaotic con- 
dition of my poor brain at a time when, in the conJ3ict of 
two epochs so important for the national literature, so much 
that was new crowded in upon me before I could come to 
terms with the old, so much that was old still maintained its 
hold upon me, though I already believed I might with good 
reason renounce it altogether. I will now try to indicate, 
if possible, the path I pursued to extricate myself, if only 
step by step, from this dilemma. 

With conscientious industry I had worked my way 
through the period of prolixity in which my youth had 
fallen, in company with many worthy men. The numerous 
quarto volumes of manuscript which I left behind with my 
father might serve as sufficient witness ; and what a mass of 
attempts, rough draughts, and half-executed designs, had, 
more from despondency than conviction, ended in smoke ! 
Now, through conversation in general, through instruction, 
through so many conflicting opinions, but especially through 
my fellow-boarder, Hofrat Pfeil, I learned to value more 
and more the importance of the subject-matter, and the 
conciseness of the treatment; without, however, being able 
to make clear to myself where the former was to be 
sought, or how the latter was to be attained. For, what 
with the limitations of my life, what with the indifference 
of my companions, the reserve of the professors, the ex- 
clusiveness of the educated inhabitants, and what with the 
complete insignificance of external nature, it was vain to 
look for any inspiration from without. If, therefore, I 
desired a true basis in feeling or reflection for my poems, I 
was forced to seek it in my own heart ; if I required for my 
poetic representation a first-hand impression of an object or 
an event, I must necessarily remain within the circle from 
which an appeal to my feelings, an awakening of my 
interest, was hkely to come. With these convictions I first 
wrote certain little poems, in the form of songs or in 



252 POETRY AND TRUTH [part u. book vu 

a less regular measure; they are founded on reflection, 
treat of the past, and for the most part take an epigram- 
matic turn. 

And thus began that habit from which I could not 
break away my whole life through — the habit of turning 
y into an image, into a poem, whatever delighted or troubled, 
or otherwise occupied me, and thus of coming to some 
definite conclusion with regard to it, so that I might both 
rectify my conceptions of external things and satisfy my 
inner cravings. To no one was the faculty for so doing 
more necessary than to me, for by nature I was constantly 
carried from one extreme to the other. Whatever, there- 
fore, of mine has become public, are but fragments of a great 
confession, and this little book is a bold attempt to render it 
complete. 

My early affection for Gretchen I had now transferred 
to a certain Annchen^ of whom I can only say that she was 
young, pretty, sprightly, loving, and so attractive that she well 
deserved to be set up for a time in the shrine of the heart 
as a little saint, that she might receive all that reverence 
which it often causes more pleasure to bestow than to 
receive. I saw her daily without hindrance ; she helped to 
prepare the meals which I enjoyed, she brought, in the 
evening at least, the wine which I drank, and indeed our 
select circle of noon-day boarders was a warrant that the 
little house, which was visited by few guests, except during 
the Fair, well merited its good reputation. Opportunity and 
inclination were found for various kinds of amusement. But 
as she neither might nor could leave the house often, our 
pleasures were somewhat sparse. We sang the songs 
of Zacharia, acted Kriiger's Duke Michael^ in which a 
knotted handkerchief had to take the place of the nightin- 
gale; and so, for a while, the time fleeted pleasantly 
enough. But since such connections are in the long run 
lacking in variety in proportion to their innocence, I was 
seized with that base craving which tempts us to derive 
amusement by tormenting the girl we love, and to domi- 
neer over her devotion with wanton and tyrannical caprice. 
I thought I might vent on her my ill-humour at the failure 
of my poetical attempts, at the apparent impossibility 
of coming to a clear understanding about them, and at 



1765-68] ANNCHEN 253 

whatever else went wrong with me, because she really loved 
me with all her heart, and did whatever she could to please 
me. By unfounded and absurd fits of jealousy, I spoiled 
our most delightful days both for myself and her. She 
endured it for a time with incredible patience, which I was 
cruel enough to try to the uttermost. But to my shame and 
despair, I was at last forced to remark that her heart was 
alienated from me, and that I might now have good ground 
for the madness in which I had indulged without necessity 
and without cause. There were also terrible scenes between 
us, from which I gained notliing ; and now for the first time 
I felt that I really loved her, and could not bear to lose her. 
My passion grew, and assumed all the forms of which it is 
capable under such circumstances ; nay, at last I even took 
up the role which the girl had hitherto played. I devised all 
possible means of making myself agreeable to her, even of 
procuring her pleasure by means of others ; for I could not 
renounce the hope of winning her again. But it was too 
late ! I had lost her really, and the frenzy with which I 
revenged my wrong-doing upon myself, by frantic attempts 
to injure my physical self, in order to inflict pain on my 
moral self, contributed very much to the maladies which 
spoilt some of the best years of my life ; indeed, I should 
perhaps have been completely ruined by this loss, had not 
my poetic talent shown itself particularly helpful with its 
healing power. 

Even at an earlier date, I had from time to time 
clearly realized my baseness. I really pitied the poor 
child, when I saw that I had hurt her needlessly. I pictured 
to myself so often and so circumstantially her position and 
my own, and, in contrast, the contented state of another 
couple in our company, that at last I could not refrain from 
treating this situation dramatically, as a painful and instruc- 
tive penance. Hence arose the earliest of my extant 
dramatic works, the little piece entitled. Die Laune des 
Verliebteii {The Lover's Caprice); the unpretentious form of 
which does not wholly disguise the strength of surging 
passion. 

But before this I had already come into contact with a 
world, serious, significant, insistent. Through my adventure 
with Gretchen and its consequences, I had early looked into 



254 POETRY AND TRUTH [part ii. book vii 

the strange tortuous passages, undermining civil society. 
Religion, morals, law, rank, position, custom, hold sway 
only over the surface of city life. The streets, bordered by 
splendid houses, are kept clean, and every one in them 
behaves with propriety ; but within the confusion is often only 
so much the greater ; and a smooth exterior, like a thin coat 
of plaster, often conceals rotten masonry which collapses 
overnight, and produces an eifect the more frightful, from 
breaking into a condition of repose. How many families, 
far and near, had I not already seen, either overwhelmed in 
ruin or dangling miserably on its brink, by bankruptcies, 
divorces, seduced daughters, murders, house-robberies, 
poisonings ; and young as I was, I had often, in such cases, 
lent a hand to help and preserve. For as my frankness 
awakened confidence, as my discretion was proved, as my 
activity feared no sacrifice, and loved best to exert itself in 
the most dangerous predicaments, I had often enough found 
opportunity to mediate, to hush up, to divert the lightning- 
flash, and do whatever else was possible; in so doing I 
could not but meet with many depressing and humiliating 
experiences as well in my own person as in that of others. 
To relieve myself I designed several plays, and wrote the 
opening scenes * of most of them. But since the intrigues 
were inevitably painful, and almost all these plays 
threatened to have a tragical conclusion, I let them drop 
one after another. Die Mitschuldigen {T/ie Fellow-sinners) 
is the only one that was finished. Its cheerful and 
burlesque tone, contrasting with the gloomy background 
of family life, seems accompanied by an apprehensive 
strain, so that when acted the general effect is painful, 
although it is amusing in detail. The illegal deeds, harshly 
expressed, wound our aesthetic and moral feelings, and the 
piece could therefore find no favour on the German stage, 
although the imitations of it, which steered clear of those 
rocks, were received with applause. 

Both the above-mentioned pieces were however written 
from a more elevated point of view, without my having been 
aware of it. They direct us to a considerate forbearance in 

• " Expositions'^ in a dramatic sense, properly means a statement of 
the events which take place before the action of the play commences. — 
Trans, 



1765-68] YOUTHFUL PRANKS 255 

making moral imputations, and in somewhat harsh and 
coarse touches lightly express that most Christian maxim : 
LeLhim who is without sin among you, cast the first stone, 
^ Owing to this earnestness, which cast a gloom over 
my first pieces, I committed the fault of neglecting very 
promising themes for which my natural gifts peculiarly 
fitted me. In the midst of these grave, and, for a young 
man, terrible experiences, I developed a reckle'ss humour, 
which felt itself superior to the moment, and not only feared 
no danger, but rather wantonly courted it. The cause of 
this lay in the exuberance of spirits in which the vigour of 
youth so much delights, and which, if it manifests itself in a 
frolicsome way, causes much pleasure, both at the moment 
and in remembrance. Such outbreaks are so usual that in 
the vocabulary of our young university friends they are 
called Suites y and on account of the close similarity of 
signification, to say " play suites" means just the same as to 
" play pranks." * 

Such humorous escapades, if put on the stage with wit 
and sense, are most efiective. They are distinct from the 
comedy of intrigue, inasmuch as their appeal is instantaneous, 
and their purpose, if they have one, must not be far-fetched. 
Beaumarchais realized their full value, and hence comes 
the effectiveness of his Figaros, When, therefore, such 
good-humoured roguish and half-knavish pranks are carried 
out at personal risk for noble ends, the situations which arise 
from them are, from an aesthetic and moral point of view, 
of the greatest value for the theatre ; for instance, the opera 
of the Water-Carrier treats perhaps the happiest subject 
which we. have ever yet seen upon the stage. 

To enliven the endless tedium of daily life, I played 
numberless tricks of the sort, partly without any aim at all, 
partly at the instigation of my friends whom I liked to 
please. For my own part, I could not say that I had ever 
once acted with ulterior motive, nor did it ever occur to me 
to consider a feat of the kind as a subject for art. Had 
I, however, laid hold on and elaborated such materials, 
which lay so close at hand, my earliest efforts would have 

♦ The real meaning of the passage is that the idiom " Possen 
reissen," is used also with the university word " Suite," so that one can 
say '* Suiten reissen."— Trans, 



2S6 POETRY AND TRUTH [part ii. book vii 

been more cheerful and fit for use. Some incidents of this 
kind, it is true, occur among my later works, but are still 
isolated and aimless. For since we are always more ready to 
listen to the voice of the heart rather than that of the head, 
and the former causes us trouble when the latter knows well 
how to look after itself, so to me the affairs of the heart had 
always appeared as the more important. I was never 
weary of reflecting upon the transient nature of attachments, 
the mutability of human character, moral sensuality, and all 
nobility and baseness, the combination of which in our 
nature may be considered the riddle of human life. Here, 
too, I sought to rid myself of my perplexity in a song, 
an epigram, in some kind of rhyme, which, since they 
referred to the most individual feelings and the most 
peculiar circumstances, could scarcely interest anyone but 
myself. 

In the meanwhile, my external position had very much 
changed in the lapse of a short time. Madame Bohme, 
after a long and melancholy illness, had at last died ; she 
had latterly ceased to admit me to her presence. Her 
husband could not be particularly satisfied with me; I 
seemed to him not sufficiently industrious, and too frivolous. 
In particular he took it very ill of me, when he heard that, 
instead of taking proper notes at the lectures on German 
jurisprudence, I had drawn the personages presented to our 
notice in them on the margin of my note-book, such as the 
President of the Chamber, the Moderators and Assessors, 
in wonderful wigs ; and by these absurdities had disturbed 
my attentive neighbours and set them laughing. After the 
loss of his wife he lived in still greater retirement than 
before, and at last I shunned him in order to avoid his 
reproaches. But it was peculiarly unfortunate that Gellert 
would not use the power which he might have exercised 
over us. Naturally he had not time to play the father- 
confessor, and to inquire after the character and failings of 
each one ; he therefore dealt with us in somewhat wholesale 
fashion, and used the rites of the church as a means of 
restraining us. For this reason, when we were once admitted 
to his presence, he generally used to lower his little head, 
and, in his pleasant lachrymose voice, to ask us whether we 
went regularly to church, who was our confessor, and 



1765-68] SACRAMENTS OF THE CHURCH 257 

whether we partook of the Holy Communion ? If we came 
off badly at this examination we were dismissed with 
lamentations ; we were more vexed than edified, yet could 
not help loving the man heartily. 

On this occasion, I cannot forbear reverting to a period 
of my earlier youth, in order to make it obvious that the 
important functions of the state religion must be exercised 
logically and coherently if they are to prove as efficacious 
as they may be. The Protestant service has too little 
depth and consistency to be able to hold the congregation 
together ; hence, members are apt to secede from it, and 
either form little congregations of their own, or, without 
ecclesiastical connection, quietly carry on their citizen-life 
side by side. Thus for a considerable time complaints 
were made that the church-goers were diminishing from 
year to year, and, in the same ratio, the persons who 
partook of the Lord's Supper. With respect to both, but 
especially the latter, the cause lies close at hand; but 
who dares put it into words ? We will make the attempt. 

In moral and religious, as in physical and civil matters, 
man does not like to do anything on the spur of the moment ; 
he needs a connected series of acts which then become 
habitual; what he is to love and to perform, he cannot 
imagine as single or detached, and if he is to repeat any- 
thing willingly, it must not have become unwonted. If the 
Protestant worship in general lacks depth, let it be investi- 
gated in detail, and it will be found that the Protestant has 
too few sacraments, in fact he has only one in which he 
is himself an active participator, — the Lord's Supper : for 
baptism he sees only when it is performed on others, and is 
not greatly edified by it. The sacraments, are the highest 
part of religion, the visible symbols of an extraordinary 
divine favour and grace. In the Lord's Supper earthly lips 
are allowed to receive the embodiment of a Divine Being, 
and partake of heavenly food in the form of earthly nourish- 
ment. The meaning of the sacrament is identical in all 
Christian churches; whether the Sacrament is taken with 
more or less acceptance of the mystery, or with more or 
less accommodation to the intelligible, it always remains 
a great holy act, representative in the world of fact of 
the possible or the impossible, of what man can neither 
VOL. I. s 



258 POETRY AND TRUTH [part ir. book vii 

attain nor do without. But such a sacrament should 
not stand alone; no Christian can partake of it with the 
true joy for which it is given, if the symbolical or sacra- 
mental sense is not fostered within him. He must be 
accustomed to regard the inner religion of the heart and 
that of the external church as absolutely one, as the great 
universal sacrament, which again resolves itself into many 
others, and communicates to these separate rites its holiness, 
indestructibleness, and eternity. 

Here a youthful pair give their hands to one another, 
not for a passing salutation or for the dance ; the priest pro- 
nounces his blessing upon them, and the bond is indissoluble. 
It is not long before this wedded pair bring their counter- 
part to the threshold of the altar ; it is purified with holy 
water, and incorporated into the church in such a way that 
it cannot forfeit this benefit except by the most monstrous 
apostacy. The child in the course of life gains for him- 
self experience in earthly things, in heavenly things he 
must be instructed. Should it prove on examination that 
this has been fully done, he is received into the bosom of 
the church as an actual citizen, as a sincere and voluntary 
professor of the faith, not without outward tokens of the 
significance of this act. Now for the first time he is 
definitely a Christian, now for the first time he knows his 
privileges, and also his duties. But, in the meanwhile, 
much that is strange has befallen him in his human life ; 
instruction and punishments have brought home to him 
how precarious is the state of his soul, and the question 
of doctrines and of transgressions will still confront him ; 
but he will no longer be punished. At this point, in the 
infinite confusion, in which he cannot fail to become 
entangled in the conflict between natural and religious 
claims, a glorious expedient is provided for him, enabling 
him to confide his deeds and misdeeds, his weaknesses 
and doubts, to a worthy man, appointed expressly for that 
purpose, who knows how to calm, to warn, to strengthen 
him, to chasten him likewise by symbolical punishments, 
and at last by completely wiping out his guilt, to render 
him happy and restore his manhood to him no longer stained 
and sullied. Thus prepared, and calmed to rest by various 
sacramental rites, which, on closer examination, consist of 



1765-68] CATHOLIC SACRAMENTS 259 

a number of minor sacramental acts, he kneels down to 
receive the host ; and that the mystery of this high act may 
be still enhanced, he sees the chalice only in the distance ; 
it is no common eating and drinking that satisfies, it is 
a heavenly feast, which makes him thirst after heavenly 
drink. 

Yet let not the youth believe that this is all he has to do ; 
let not even the man believe it. In earthly relations, in the 
end we grow accustomed to depend on ourselves, and, even 
there, knowledge, understanding, and character will not 
always suffice ; in heavenly things, on the contrary, we have 
never finished learning. Those higher feelings within us, 
which often seem hardly to be really our own, are, besides, 
assailed by so much from without, that our own strength 
can hardly supply us with all the counsel, consolation, and 
help we need. But this remedy has been prescribed for us 
all our life long ; and a wise, holy man is ever ready to 
show the wanderers the path they should go, and to relieve 
the distressed. 

And what has been so well tried throughout the whole 
of life, will then show forth all its healing power with tenfold 
strength at the gates of death. According to the familiar 
custom, followed from youth upwards, the dying man re- 
ceives with fervour those symbolical, significant assurances, 
and there, where every earthly pledge fails, he is assured, 
by a heavenly one, of a blessed existence for all eternity. 
He feels himself perfectly convinced that no hostile 
element nor malignant spirit can hinder him from donning 
a glorified body, so that, in closest union with the God- 
head, he may partake of the boundless happiness which flows 
forth from Him. 

Then at the last, that the whole man may be made holy, 
the feet are anointed and blessed. Even in the event of 
recovery they will shrink from touching this earthly, hard, 
impenetrable soil. A wondrous swiftness is imparted to 
them, making them spurn the clod of earth which hitherto 
attracted them. And thus a glorious round of acts of equal 
sanctity, the beauty of which we have only briefly hinted at, 
binds the cradle to the grave by one unbroken chain, how- 
ever far asunder they may chance to be. 

But all these spiritual wonders do not spring, like other 



26o POETRY AND TRUTH [part ii. book vii 

fruits, from the natural soil : they can neither be sown, 
nor planted, nor fostered. We must petition for them from 
another region, and they will not be granted to everyone, 
nor at all times. Here we find the highest of these symbols, 
derived from ancient pious tradition. We are told that one 
man may be more favoured, blessed, and sanctified from 
above than another. But that this may not appear as a 
natural gift, this great boon, carrying with it great respon- 
sibility, must be handed on by one authorized person to 
another; and the greatest good that a man can attain — 
although beyond the reach of his own efforts and struggles 
— must be preserved and perpetuated on earth by spiritual 
succession. In truth, in the ordination of the priest is com- 
prehended all that is necessary for the effectual solemnizing 
of those holy acts by which the multitude receive grace, 
without -the need of any other activity on their part than 
that of faith and implicit confidence. And thus we see the 
priest in the line of his predecessors and successors, in the 
circle of those anointed with him, representing the highest 
source of blessings, in all the greater glory inasmuch as it 
is not he, the priest, whom we reverence, but his office ; 
it is not the motion of his hand to which we bow the knee, 
but the blessing which he imparts, and which seems the 
more holy, and to come the more immediately from heaven, 
because the earthly vessel cannot at all weaken or still less 
invalidate it by its own sinful, or even wicked nature. 

How wantonly is this truly spiritual continuity broken 
in the Protestant religion ! For some of the symbols we 
have been discussing are declared apocryphal, and only a 
few canonical ; — and how, with its indifference to some of 
them, can it prepare us for the sanctity of the others ? 

In my time my religious instruction had been entrusted 
to a good infirm old clergyman, who had been confessor to 
the family for many years. I had the catechism, a para- 
phrase of it, and the doctrine of salvation at my fingers' 
ends, all the Biblical textual proofs I had made my own, 
but from all these I reaped no fruit ; for as they assured me 
that the worthy old man ordered his final examination 
according to an antiquated form, I lost all interest and 
pleasure in the matter, spent the last week in all sorts of 
diversions, put in my hat the loose leaves borrowed from 



1765-68I RELIGIOUS APPREHENSIONS 261 

an older friend, who had obtained them from the clergyman, 
and without feeling or understanding, read aloud all that I 
could very well have recited with feeling and conviction. 

But when the time came for approaching the confessional, 
I foimd my good-will and my aspirations in this important 
matter still more paralyzed by the dry, lifeless routine. 
I was indeed conscious of many failings, but of no great 
faults ; and that very consciousness diminished them, since 
it directed me to the moral strength which lay within me, 
and which, with resolution and perseverance, would in the 
end triumph over the old Adam. We were taught that our 
own superiority to the Catholics consisted in the fact that 
we were not obliged to acknowledge anything in particular 
in the confessional, nay more, that this would not be proper, 
even if we wished to do so. This latter opinion did not 
seem right to me ; for I had the strangest religious doubts, 
which I would willingly have had cleared up on such an 
occasion. Now as this was not to be, I composed a form 
of confession for myself, which, while expressing my state 
of mind, would confess to an intelligent man in general 
terms what I was forbidden to tell him in detail. But 
when I entered the old chancel of the Barefoot Friars, 
when I approached the strange latticed cupboards in which 
the clergy used to take their places for that purpose, when 
the sexton opened the door for me, when I saw myself 
shut up in the narrow place face to face with my spiritual 
father, and he bade me welcome with his weak nasal voice, 
a sudden darkness fell on my mind and heart, the well- 
conned confession died away on my lips ; I opened, in my 
embarrassment, the book which I had in my hand, and read 
from it the first short form I saw, which was so general, that 
anybody might have said it with a safe conscience. I 
received absolution, and withdrew neither warm nor cold ; 
I went the next day with my parents to the Table of the 
Lord, and, for a few days, behaved myself as was becoming 
after so holy an act. 

Subsequently, however, I fell a victim to that complaint 
which is apt to attack scrupulous men, because our religion 
is complicated by various dogmas, and founded on texts of 
scripture which admit of more than one interpretation. It 
often brings in its wake a hypochondriacal condition, and 



262 POETRY AND TRUTH [parx ii. book vii 

assumes in its most acute stage the form of fixed ideas. 
I have known several men who, though their manner of 
thinking and living was perfectly rational, could not shake 
off the thought of the sin against the Holy Ghost, and the 
fear that they had committed it A similar trouble threatened 
me on the subject of the communion, for the text that one 
who unworthily partakes of the Sacrament eateth anddrinketh 
damnation to himself^ had, while I was still very young, made 
a tremendous impression upon me. Every fearful thing that 
I had read in the histories of the middle ages, about ordeals, 
the strangest tests by red-hot iron, flaming fire, rising water, 
and even what the Bible tells us of the draught of water which 
does not harm the innocent, but causes the guilty to swell 
and their thigh to come away, — all this presented itself to 
my imagination and blended with the most frightful terrors, 
since false promises, hypocrisy, perjury, blasphemy, all seemed 
to rest upon the head of the unworthy participator in this 
most holy act ; and my state was the more desperate inas- 
much as no one might dare to pronounce himself worthy, 
and the forgiveness of sins, with its final atonement, was 
seen to be dependent upon so many conditions, that one 
could not with certainty freely claim it for oneself. 

These gloomy scruples troubled me greatly, and the 
baldness and feebleness of the expedients recommended 
to me as sufficient only increased the fearsomeness of the 
bugbear, so that, as soon as I had reached Leipzig, I tried 
to free myself altogether from my connection with the 
church. How oppressive, then, must the exhortations of 
Gellert have been to me ; for his usual laconic style, which 
he used to repel our obtrusiveness, made me naturally un- 
willing to trouble him with such singular questions, the 
more so as in my more cheerful hours I was myself ashamed 
of them; and in the end I entirely left behind me this 
strange anguish of conscience, together with church and 
altar. 

Gellert, in accordance with his pious feelings, had worked 
out a system of ethics, on which he lectured in public from 
time to time, and in this way honourably fulfilled his duty 
to the public. Gellert's writings had for a long time 
formed the basis of German moral culture, and hence every- 
one anxiously wished to see his lectures in print ; but as this 



1765-68] DECLINE OF GELLERT'S AUTHORITY 263 

was not to be till after the good man's death, people 
thought themselves very fortunate to hear him deliver them 
himself in his lifetime. On these occasions the philosophy 
lecture-hall was crowded, and the nobility of soul, the purity 
of aim, and the interest of the noble man in our welfare, his 
exhortations, warnings, and entreaties, uttered in a some- 
what hollow and sorrowful tone, certainly made an impression 
for the moment j but it did not last long, especially as there 
were many scoffers, who cast doubt upon this tender and, 
as they thought, enervating manner. I remember a French- 
man travelling through the town, who made inquiries about 
the maxims and opinions of the man who attracted such an 
immense concourse. When we had given him the necessary 
information, he shook his head and said, smiling, Laissez le 
faire^ il nous forme des dupes. 

So, too, polite society, which does not like to see anything 
good in its midst^ frequently weakened the moral influence 
which Gellert exercised over us. At one time he was 
accused of giving more instruction to the Danes of distinc- 
tion and wealth, who were particularly recommended to him, 
than to the other students, and of showing a marked solici- 
tude for them ; another time he was charged with selfishness 
and nepotism for causing a table d'hbte to be arranged for 
these young men at his brother's house. This brother, a 
tall, good-looking, blunt, unceremonious and somewhat 
coarse man, had, it was said, been a fencing-master, and 
notwithstanding the too great lenity of his brother, often 
treated his aristocratic boarders harshly and roughly ; hence 
people felt called upon to take the part of these young folks, 
and bandied about the good reputation of the excellent 
Gellert to such a degree, that, to avoid making mistakes 
about him, we became indifferent towards him, and visited 
him no more ; yet we always saluted him in our best manner 
when he came riding along on his docile grey horse. This 
horse the Elector had sent him, to oblige him to take the 
exercise so necessary for his health;— a mark of distinction 
which was not easily forgiven him. 

And thus, by degrees, the epoch approached when all 
authority was to cease to exist for me, and even the greatest 
and best individuals whom I had known or pictured to 
myself became a source of doubt or even of despair. 



264 POETRY AND TRUTH [part ii. book vii 

Frederick the Second still stood at the head of all the 
distinguished men of the century in my opinion, and it 
therefore appeared very surprising to me, that it was as 
impossible to praise him in the presence of the inhabitants 
of Leipzig as formerly in my grandfather's house. It is true 
they had felt the hand of war heavily, and therefore they 
were not to blame for not thinking the best of the man who 
had begun and continued it. So they were willing to let 
him pass as a distinguished, but .by no means a great man. 
There was no particular merit, they said, in achieving 
success with lavish means; and when neither lands, nor 
money, nor blood, were spared, it was easy to accomplish 
one^^i? purpose in the end. Frederick had not shown himself 
great in any of his plans, nor in anything that he had 
himself undertaken. So long as it depended on himself, he 
had only gone on making blunders, and what was extra- 
ordinary in him had only come to light when he had been 
compelled to make these blunders good again. It was 
simply in this way that he had obtained his great reputation, 
since every man covets this talent of skilfully erasing the 
blunders which he frequently commits. It was only neces- 
sary to follow the Seven Years' War, step by step, to see 
that the King had sacrificed his fine army quite uselessly, and 
tliat it was his own fault that this ruinous feud had been pro- 
tracted to so great a length. A truly great man and general 
would have got the better of his enemies much sooner. In 
support of these opinions they could cite infinite details, 
which I did not know how to refute ; and I was conscious 
of the gradual cooling in the unbounded reverence which 
from my youth up I had felt for this wonderful sovereign. 

In the same way that the inhabitants of Leipzig had 
succeeded in destroying in me the pleasant feeling of rever- 
ence for a great man, a new friend I made at the time 
greatly diminished the respect which I entertained for my 
present fellow-citizens. This friend was one of the strangest 
fellows in the world. He was named Behrisch, and was 
tutor to the young Count Lindenau. Even his exterior was 
singular enough. He was lean and well-built, far advanced 
in th^ thirties, had a very large nose, and prominent 
features; from morning till night he wore a wig of false 
hair which might perhaps have been called a periwig; he 



1765-68] BEHRISCH 265 

dressed very neatly, and never went out without his sword 
by his side, and his hat under his arm. He was one of those 
men who have quite a peculiar gift of killing time, or rather, 
know how to make something out of nothing, in order to 
pass time away. Everything that he did must be done slowly 
and with a certain dignity which might have been called 
affected, if Behrisch had not naturally had something affected 
in his manner. He resembled an old Frenchman ; he also 
spoke and wrote French very well and easily. His greatest 
delight was to occupy himself seriously with ridiculous 
trifles, and to carry an absurd freak to any length. Thus 
he was invariably dressed in grey, and as the different parts 
of his attire were of different stuffs, and consequently of 
different shades, he could reflect for whqle days how to 
introduce yet one grey more into his attire, and was 
happy when he had succeeded and could cover us with 
confusion, because we had doubted it, or had pronounced it 
impossible. He then gave us long lectures on our lack of 
inventive power, and our want of faith in his talents. 

For the rest, he was a well-instructed man, with a special 
knowledge of modern languages and their literature, and wrote 
an excellent hand. He was very well disposed to me, and I, 
having been always accustomed and inclined to the society 
of older persons, soon attached myself to him. My inter- 
course, too, provided him with special amusement, since he 
took pleasure in taming my restlessness and impatience, 
with which, on the other hand, I gave him enough to do. 
In the art of poetry he had what is called taste, a certain 
general opinion about what was good or bad, mediocre 
or passable; but his judgment was for the most part 
censorious, and he destroyed even the little faith in contem- 
porary writers which I still cherished, by unfeeling remarks, 
which he passed with wit and humour upon the writings and 
poems of this man and that. My own productions he treated 
indulgently, and let me go on my own way, but only on the 
condition that I should have nothing printed. He promised 
me, on the other hand, that he himself would copy those 
pieces which he thought good, and would present me with 
them in a handsome volume. This undertaking now 
afforded an opportunity for the greatest possible waste of 
time. For before he could find the right paper, before he 



266 POETRY AND TRUTH [part n. book vii 

could make up his mind as to the size, before he had settled 
the width of the margin, and the form of handwriting, before 
the crow-quills were provided and cut, and Indian ink 
was rubbed, whole weeks passed without a single stroke 
having been done. The same elaborate process was gone 
through every time he set about his writing, and by degrees 
he did really produce a most charming manuscript. The 
title of the poems was in black-letter type, the verses them- 
selves in a perpendicular Saxon hand, and at the end of 
every poem was an appropriate vignette, which he had 
either selected somewhere or other, or had invented himself, 
and in which he contrived to imitate very neatly the hatching 
of the wood-cuts and colophons which are used for such 
purposes. To §how me these things in progress, to vaunt 
in a comico-pathetic manner my good fortune in seeing 
myself immortalized in such exquisite handwritii^, and in a 
style which no printing-press could emulate, again gave 
occasion for passing the most agreeable hours. At the 
same time, his intercourse was always instructive in a quiet 
way because of his extensive learning, and, as he knew how 
to calm my restlessness and impetuosity, was also beneficial 
for me morally. He had, too, a particular aversion to 
everything coarse, and his jests were exceedingly quaint, 
without ever becoming vulgar or trivial. He indulged in an 
absurd dislike of his countrymen, and described with ludicrous 
touches whatever they took in hand. In particular he was 
never tired of giving a comical representation of individual 
persons, as he found some flaw in the exterior of everyone. 
Thus, when we lay together at the window, he could occupy 
himself for hours criticising the passers-by, and when he 
had censured them sufficiently he would point out in detail 
exactly how they ought to dress themselves, to walk, and 
to behave in order to look like ordinary people. Such 
suggestions, for the most part, ended in something improper 
and absurd, so that we laughed, not so much at the appear- 
ance of the person, as at his possible appearance if he had 
had the folly to caricature himself. In all such doings, 
Behrisch was quite merciless, without being in the slightest 
degree malicious. On the other hand, we on our side 
knew how to teaze him, by assuring him that, to judge 
from his exterior, he must surely be, if not a French 



1765-68] ECCENTRICITIES OF BEHRISCII 267 

dancing-master, at least the college language-master. This 
reproach was usually the signal for dissertations an hour 
long, in which he used to set forth the difference, wide as 
the heavens, which there was between him and an old 
Frenchman. At the same time he would impute to us 
all sorts of clumsy suggestions, that we might have made for 
the alteration and modification of his dress. 

The tendency of my poetry, which I continued all the 
more zealously as the transcript grew in beauty and care, 
was now entirely towards what was natural and true ; and if 
the subjects could not always be important, I nevertheless 
always endeavoured to express them clearly and pointedly, 
especially as my friend often impressed upon me what a 
great thing it was to write down a verse on Dutch paper, 
with the crow-quill and Indian ink ; what time, talent, and 
exertion it required, which ought not to be squandered on 
anything idle or unnecessary. At the same time, he would 
open a finished manuscript and explain in detail what ought 
not to stand in this or that place, or congratulate us that it 
actually did not stand there. He then spoke, with great 
contempt, of the art of printing, mimicked the compositor, 
ridiculed his gestures and his hurried picking out of the 
various letters, and ascribed to this method of procedure 
all the calamities of literature. On the other hand, he 
extolled the dignity and the noble posture of a writer, and 
immediately sat down to exemplify it to us, while at the 
same time he rated us for not comporting ourselves at the 
writing-table after his example. He would then revert to 
the comparison with the compositor, would turn a letter 
which had been begun upside down, and show how unseemly 
it would be to write from the bottom to the top, or from the 
right to the left, and much more of the same kind, enough 
to fill whole volumes. 

With such harmless follies we wasted our precious time, 
while it never would have occurred to us, that incidentally 
something was to originate in our circle which would cause 
general sensation and bring us into not the best of 
reputes. 

Gellert probably took little pleasure in his Fracticum^ 
and if he felt any inclination to give directions as to prose 
and poetical style, he did it privately to a few, among whom 



268 POETRY AND TRUTH [part ii. book vii 

we could not number ourselves. Professor Clodius under- 
took to supply the gap thus left in the public instruction. 
He had gained some renown in literature, criticism, 
and poetry, and as a young, lively, obliging man, had 
made many friends both in the university and in the city. 
Gellert himself referred us to the lectures now commenced 
by him, and, as far as the general method was concerned, 
we remarked little difference. He, too, only criticised 
details, corrected likewise with red ink, and one found one- 
self surrounded entirely by mistakes, without an indication 
as to where the right was to be sought. I had brought 
to him some of my small attempts, which he did not 
treat harshly. But just at this time they wrote to me from 
home, urging me without fail to furnish a poem for my 
uncle's wedding. I felt myself far removed from that light 
and frivolous period in which such a task would have given 
me pleasure, and since there was nothing suggestive in the 
actual circumstances, I determined to trick out my work in 
the best manner with extraneous ornament. I therefore 
convened all Olympus to take counsel about the marriage of a 
Frankfort lawyer ; and that in all seriousness, as became the 
marriage festival of such an honourable man. He had been 
the cause of a quarrel between Venus and Themis ; but a 
roguish prank which Amor played the latter, gave the 
former the advantage, and the gods decided in favour of the 
marriage. 

My work by no means displeased me. I received from 
home a handsome letter of commendation ; and thereupon 
took the trouble to make another fair copy, and hoped to 
win approval from my professor also. But here I had 
missed my mark. He took the matter seriously, and, without 
noticing the tone of parody which underlay*the conception, 
he declared the lavish employment of divine machinery for 
such an insignificant human end to be in the highest degree 
reprehensible; he inveighed against the use and abuse of 
such mythological figures, as a false habit dating from 
pedantic times ; he considered the style at one time too 
ambitious, at another too trite, and though he had not 
spared the red ink in various passages, he asserted that he 
had still not done enough. 

Such pieces were read and criticised without giving 



1765-68] PROFESSOR CLODIUS ^69 

the author's name ; but we used to watch each other, and it 
remained no secret that this unfortunate assembly of the gods 
was my work. Yet when I accepted his point of view, his 
criticism seemed to be perfectly just, and my divinities, on 
closer inspection, were seen to be mere empty phantoms ; 
accordingly I cursed all Olympus, flung the whole mythic 
Pantheon away, and from that time Amor and Luna have 
been the only divinities which ever appear in my littie poems. 

Among the persons whom Behrisch had chosen as 
the butts of his wit, Clodius was pre-eminent; nor was 
it hard to see his comical side. A little, rather stout, 
thick-set figure, he was violent in his motions, somewhat 
impetuous in his utterances, and variable in his demeanour. 
In all this he differed from his fellow-citizens, who, 
nevertheless, willingly looked up to him on account of 
his good qualities and the promise which they discerned 
in him. 

He was usually commissioned to write the poems 
required for festal occasions. In the so-called Ode^ he 
followed the manner used by Ramler, which, however, 
suited him alone. But Clodius, in imitating him, had 
especially marked the foreign words which impart to the 
poems of Ramler a majestic pomp ; and because this pomp 
is in harmony with the greatness of his subject and the general 
poetic treatment, the effect on ear, feelings, and imagination 
is very good. In Clodius, on the contrary, these expressions 
appeared anomalous, since his poetry was not in any way 
calculated to elevate the mind. 

Now we had often been obliged to see such poems 
printed and hear them highly lauded, and we were much 
annoyed that the man who had banished the heathen gods 
from us, should attempt to manufacture another ladder 
to Parnassus out of rungs stolen from the Greek and Latin 
languages. These oft-recurring expressions stamped them- 
selves firmly on our memory, and in a merry hour, when we 
were eating some most excellent cakes in the KoMgdrten 
(Kitchen-gardens), all at once it occurred to me to put 
together these words of might and power, in a poem on the 
confectioner Handel. No sooner thought than done ! And 
let it stand here, too, as it was written on the wall of the 
house with a lead-pencil. 



2^0 POETRY AND TRUTH [part ii. book vii 

"O Handel, dessen Ruhm vom Siid zyym Norden reicht 
Vernimm den Pdan^ der zu deinen Ohren steigt ! 
Du backst, was Gallier und Briten emsig suchen : 
Mit sckopfrischem GenU^ originelle Kuchen. 
Des Kaffees Ozean, der sich vor dir ergiesst, 
1st siisser a.ls der Saft, der vom Hymettus fliesst. 
Dein Haus, ein Monununt, wie wir den Klinsten lohnen, 
Umhangen mit Trophdn^ erzahlt den Nationen : 
Auch ohne Diadem fand Handel hier sein Gliick 
Und raubte dem Kothum gar manch Achtgroschenstuck. 
Glanzt deine Urn^ dereinst in majestat'schem Pompe, 
Dann weint der PatHot an deiner Katakombe. 
Doch leb'! dein Toms sei von edler Brut ein Nest^ 
Steh hoch wie der Olynip^ wie der Parnassus fest ! 
Kein Phalanx Griechenlands mit Romischen BaUisten 
Vermog' Germanien und Handeln zu verwusten. 
Dein Wohl is unser Stohy dein Leiden unser Scknurz, 
Und Handels Tempel ist der Musensohne Ilerz.** * 

This poem stood for a long time among many others 
which disfigured the walls of those rooms without being 
noticed, and we, who had sufficiently amused ourselves with 
it, forgot it altogether amongst other things. A long time 
afterwards, Clodius brought out his Medon^ the wisdom, 

* The humour of the above consists, not in the thoughts, but in the 
particular words employed. These have no remarkable effect in English, 
as to us the words of Latin origin are often as familiar as those which 
have Teutonic roots, and these form the chief peculiarity of the style. 
We have therefore given the poem in the original language, with the 
peculiar words (as indicated by Goethe) in italics, and subjoin a literal 
translation. It will be observed that we have said that the peculiarity 
consists chiefly^ not solely^ in the use of the foreign words, for there are 
two or three instances of unquestionably German words, which are 
italicised on account of their high-sounding pomp. 

" Oh Handel, whose fame extends from south to norths hear the Poean 
which ascends to thine ears. Thou bakest that which Gauls and Bntons 
industriously seek, (thou bakest) with creative genius oiyginal cakes. The 
ocea/t of coffee which pours itself out before thee, is sweeter han the 
juice which flows from Hymettus. Thy house, a monumefU^ how we 
reward the arts, hung round with trophies^ tells the nations : * Even 
without a diadem y Handel found prosperity here, and robbed the 
Cothurnus of many an eight-groschen -piece.* When thine urn hereafter 
shall shine in majestic pomp^ then will the patriot weep at thy ca/acomA. 
But live ! let thy bed (torus) be the nest of a noble brood, stand high as 
Olympus, and firm as Paifiassus. May no phalanx of Greece with 
Roman ballistce be able to destroy Germania and Handel. Thy weal is 
our pridey ihy suffering our pain ^ and Handel's temple is the heart of 
the sons of the Muses J** — Trans, 



1765-68] RIDICULE OF CLODIUS 27 1 

magnanimity, and virlueof which we found infinitely ridiculous, 
much as the first representation of the piece was applauded. 
That evening, when we met at our usual convivial meeting, 
I made a prologue in doggerel verse, in which Harlequin 
comes on the stage with two great sacks, places them on each 
side of the proscenium, and after various introductory jokes, 
tells the spectators in confidence that the two sacks contain 
moral aesthetic dust, which the actors will very frequently 
throw into their eyes. For one was filled with good deeds 
that cost nothing, and the other with splendidly expressed 
opinions that had no meaning behind them. He reluctantly 
withdrew, and came back several times, earnestly exhorted 
the spectators to attend to his warning and shut their eyes, 
reminded them that he had always been their friend, and 
meant well with them, with much more of the like. This 
prologue was acted in the room, on the spot, by friend Horn, 
but we kept the joke to ourselves, not a single copy was 
made, and the paper was soon lost. However, Horn, who 
had played the part of Harlequin very amusingly, took it 
into his head to enlarge my poem to Handel by several 
verses, and then to maJce it refer to Medon, He read it 
aloud to us, but we could not take any pleasure in it, for we 
did not find the additions particularly clever, while the first 
poem, having been written for quite a different purpose, 
seemed spoilt. Our friend, out of humour at our indifference, 
or rather censure, probably showed it to others, who thought 
it new and amusing. Copies were now made of it, which 
at once obtained a rapid notoriety, thanks to the reputation 
of Clodius's Medon, Universal disapproval was the con- 
sequence, and the originators (it was soon found out that the 
poem was the work of our clique) were severely censured : 
for nothing of the sort had been seen since Cronegk's 
and Rost's attacks upon Gottsched. As it was, we had 
withdrawn into seclusion before this happened, and felt our- 
selves to be in the position of owls with respect to the other 
birds. In Dresden, too, disapproval was shown, and it had 
for us serious, if not unpleasant consequences. For some 
time past, Count Lindenau had not been quite satisfied with 
his son's tutor. For, although the young man was by no 
means neglected, and Behrisch was always either in the 
chamber of the young Count, or in an adjoining one, when 



272 POETRY AND TRUTH [part ii. book vii 

the instructors gave their daily lessons, attended lectures 
with him very regularly, never went out in the day-time with- 
out him, and accompanied him in all his walks ; yet the rest 
of us were always to be found in Apel's house, and joined 
them whenever they went for a ramble ; this alone attracted 
attention. Behrisch, too, grew accustomed to our society, and 
latterly had usually consigned his pupil to the hands of the 
valet de chambre about nine o'clock in the evening, and gone 
in quest of us to the wine-house, whither, however, he never 
used to come but in shoes and stockings, with his sword by 
his side, and as a rule his hat under his arm. The fun and 
fooling, which he generally set on foot, were unending. For 
instance, one of our friends had a habit of going away pre- 
cisely at ten, because he had relations with a pretty girl, 
whom he could meet only at that hour. We did not like 
to lose him ; and one evening, when we were having a very 
goo4 time together, Behrisch secretly determined that this 
time he would not let him go. At the stroke of ten, our 
friend arose and took leave. Behrisch called after him and 
begged him to wait a moment, as he meant to go with him. 
He now began, in the most amusing manner, first to hunt for 
his sword, which stood just before his eyes, and in buckling it 
on fumbled so awkwardly, that he seemed as if he would never 
get it done. This he did at first so naturally, that no one had 
any suspicions. But when, to vary the theme, he at last went 
further, so that the sword hung now on the right side, now 
between his legs, a general laugh ensued, in which the parting 
guest, who was besides a jolly fellow, joined, and let Behrisch 
have his way till the trysting-hour was past, and thereupon 
began a time of pleasant sociability and mirthful conversation 
lasting till far into the night. 

Unfortunately Behrisch, and we through him, were 
attracted in another way by some girls who were better 
than their reputation ; but naturally our own reputation 
suffered. We had often been seen in their garden, and we 
directed our walks thither, even when the young Count was 
with us. These various enormities had probably been 
treasured up, and then communicated to his father; at 
any rate, he sought to be rid of the tutor in an honourable 
way, who, as it turned out, profited by his dismissal. His 
good appearance, his knowledge and talents, his integrity, 



1765-68] WHAT IS EXPERIENCE? 273 

which no one could call in question, had won for him the 
affection and esteem of distinguished persons, on whose 
recommendation he was appointed tutor to the hereditary 
prince of Dessau ; and at the court of a prince, excellent in 
every respect, he found firmly rooted happiness. 

The loss of a friend like Behrisch was of the greatest 
consequence to me. He had spoiled me whilst training me, 
and his presence was necessary, if the pains he had thought 
good to expend upon me were to bear any fruit for society 
at large. He knew how to engage me in all kinds of 
pleasing and suitable pursuits that happened to come in our 
way, and to bring out my social talents. But I had failed 
to acquire any self-reliance in such matters ; so when I was 
alone again, I immediately relapsed into my aimless and 
refractory ways, which grew more marked in proportion as 
I became discontented with those about me, fancying that 
they were not pleased with me. With the most wayward 
caprice, I took offence at what I might have considered 
a benefit ; thus I alienated many with whom I had hitherto 
been on fairly good terms ; and, on account of the many dis- 
agreeable consequences for myself and others of what 1 had 
done or left undone, or done too much or too little, I was 
forced to hear the remark from my well-wishers, that I lacked 
experience. The same thing was said to me by some well- 
meaning person or other who saw my productions, especially 
when these referred to the external world. I studied this 
world as well as I could, but found in it little edification, and 
was still forced to read into it much of myself to make it 
appear even tolerable. I had often pressed my friend 
Behrisch to explain to me what experience was. But, 
because he could never help fooling, he put me off with fair 
words from day to day, and at last, after elaborate prepara- 
tions, disclosed to me, that true experience really consisted 
in experiencing how an experienced man must experience 
in experiencing his experience. When we upbraided him 
vigorously, and called him to account, he assured us that a 
great mystery lay hidden behind these words, which we 
could not comprehend until we had experienced . . . and 
so on without end :— for he had no difficulty in running on 
ill this way by the quarter of an hour; — seeing that ex- 
perience would always become more experienced, and at 

VOL. I. T 



274 POETRY AND TRUTH [part ii. book vii 

last become true experience. When we were in despair at 
his absurdities, he would protest that he had learned this 
way of making himself intelligible and impressive from the 
most modern and greatest authors, who had pointed out how 
one can rest a restful rest, and how silence, in being silent, 
becomes ever more silent. 

By chance an officer, who was spending his furlough 
among us, was praised in good company as a remarkably 
sound-minded and experienced man, who had fought in the 
Seven Years' War, and had gained the confidence of all. It 
was not difficult for me to make his acquaintance, and we 
often went for walks together. The idea of experience 
had almost become a fixed one in my brain, and the 
craving to understand it passionate. With my natural 
frankness I disclosed to him the uneasiness I felt. He 
smiled, and was kind enough to tell me in answer to my 
questions something of his own life, and generally of the 
world about us ; from which, indeed, I gleaned little more 
than that experience convinces us that our highest thoughts, 
wishes, and designs are unattainable, and that the man who 
cherishes such illusions and proclaims them eagerly is 
especially apt to be considered an inexperienced man. 

Yet, as he was a brave and manly fellow, he assured me 
that he had himself not quite given up these illusions, and felt 
tolerably happy with the little faith, love, and hope which 
remained to him. Then I made him tell me a great deal 
about war, about life on the field, about skirmishes and 
battles, especially his share in them ; for these vast events, 
when considered in relation to a single individual, acquired 
a very strange aspect. I then persuaded him to give me an 
ungarnished account of the recent state of affairs at court, 
which seemed to me like a fairy-tale. I heard of the 
bodily strength of Augustus the Second, of his many children 
and his lavish expenditure, then of his successor's love of 
art and collections, of Count Briihl and his boundless love 
of display, the details of which appeared almost senseless, 
of numerous banquets and gorgeous amusements, which 
were all stopped by Frederick's invasion of Saxony. The 
royal castles now lay in ruins, Briihrs splendours were 
annihilated, and all that remained was a glorious land, 
sadly devastated. 



1765-68] WHAT IS EXPERIENCE? 275 

When he saw me astonished at that unreasoning enjoy- 
ment of prosperity, and then grieved by the calamity that 
followed, and pointed out that an experienced man is 
expected not to be astonished at either, nor to take too 
lively an interest in them, I felt a great desire to remain for 
a while in the same inexperience as hitherto ; in this desire 
he supported me, and urgently entreated me, for the present, 
always to cling to agreeable experiences, and to try to avoid 
those that were disagreeable as much as possible, if they 
came in my way. But another time, when the discussion 
was again about experience in general, and I related to him 
those jesting phrases of my friend Behrisch, he shook his 
head, smiling, and said, " 1 here, you see what happens to 
words which have once been spoken ! These sound so 
comical, nay, so silly, that it would seem almost impossible 
to put a rational meaning into them ; and yet, perhaps, the 
attempt might be made." 

And when I pressed him, he replied in his intelligent, 
cheerful way, " If you will allow me, in commenting on and 
supplementing your friend, to go on after his fashion, I 
think he meant to say, that experience consists in ex- 
periencing what one does not wish to experience ; which 
is what it amounts to for the most parr, at least in this 
world." 



EIGHTH BOOK 

Another man, although infinitely different from Behrisch 
in every respect, might yet be compared with him in a 
certain sense ; I mean Oeser, who was also one of those 
men who dream away their lives in easy-going activity. 
Even his friends secretly acknowledged that, with great 
natural gifts, he had not exerted himself sufficiently in his 
younger years ; for which reason, he never acquired a 
perfect mastery of his art. Yet a certain diligence 
appeared to be reserved for his old age, and, during the 
many years which I knew him, he never lacked invention 
or industry. From the very first moment he had attracted 
me greatly ; even his residence, strange and awe-inspiring, was 
full of charm for me. At the right-hand corner of the old 
castle Pleissenburg, a well-lighted winding staircase, which 
had been restored, led to the first floor. The salons of the 
Academy of Design, of which he was director, were on the 
left, and were light and roomy ; but his own rooms could 
be reached only by a narrow, dark passage, at the very end 
of which you found the entrance to his apartments, after 
passing between the whole suite of them and an extensive 
granary. The first room was adorned with pictures from 
the later Italian school, by masters whose grace he used to 
commend highly. Since I had joined some noblemen in 
taking private lessons from him, we were allowed to draw 
here, and we often found our way into his adjoining private 
cabinet, which also contained his few books, collections of 
art and natural curiosities, and whatever else particularly 
interested him. Everything was arranged with taste, simply, 
and so that the little space held a great deal. The furniture, 
presses, and portfolios were elegant, without affectation or 
superfluity. Accordingly the first injunction he gave us, to 
which he constantly recurred, was simplicity in everything 



1768-70] OESER 277 

that art and manual labour in conjunction are called upon 
to produce. As a sworn foe of the scroU-and-shell style, 
and of the whole rococo tendency, he showed us examples 
of it in old-fashioned engravings and drawings, contrasting 
them with better decorations and simpler forms, as applied 
to a room and its furniture ; and, because everything 
about him corresponded with these maxims, his words and 
instruction made a good and lasting impression on us. 
He had besides other opportunities of letting us see his 
opinions in practice, since he was looked up to by both 
private persons and government officials, and was asked 
for advice when new buildings and alterations were in 
progress. He seemed in general to be more inclined to 
undertake occasional work for some definite purpose and use, 
than to take in hand and complete anything existing for 
its own sake, and therefore requiring greater perfection ; he 
was therefore always ready and willing to help when the 
publishers needed large or small copper-plates for any 
work ; thus the vignettes to Winckelmann's first writings 
were etched by him. But he often made only very sketchy 
drawings, which Geyser knew very well how to adapt to 
his purpose. His figures invariably had something universal, 
not to say ideal, in character. His women were pleasing and 
attractive, his children naive enough ; only with his men he 
was unsuccessful ; his treatment, though clever, was indistinct, 
and at the same time sketchy, and so for the most part made 
them look like Lazzaroni, Since he designed his compositions 
less with regard to form than to light, shade, and grouping, 
the general effect was good ; as indeed all that he did and 
produced was invested with a peculiar grace. At the same 
time, he neither could nor would control an inborn love for 
the significant and the allegorical — for what lies below the 
surface ; and so his works always furnished food for reflec- 
tion, and owed their artistic unity to some underlying 
conception, though faulty in art and execution. This 
tendency, which is always dangerous, frequently led him to 
the very bounds of good taste, if not beyond them. He 
often sought to attain his ends by the oddest devices, and 
by whimsical jests; indeed, his best works always have a 
touch of humour. If the public were not always satisfied with 
such things, he would avenge himself by some new and even 



278 POETRY AND TRUTH [part u. book viii 

wilder drollery. Thus, at a later date, he exhibited in the 
ante-room of the great concert-hall an ideal female figure, in 
his own style, raising a pair of snuffers to a taper, and he was 
extraordinarily deHghted when he had caused a dispute as 
to whether this singular muse meant to snuff the light or 
to extinguish it, whereupon he seized the opportunity for 
banteringly suggesting all sorts of ridiculous possibilities. 

But the building of the new theatre, in my time, caused 
the greatest sensation ; and Oeser's curtain in it, when still 
quite new, had certainly an uncommonly charming effect. 
He had transferred the Muses from the clouds, upon which 
they usually hover on such occasions, and set them upon the 
earth. The statues of Sophocles and Aristophanes, around 
whom all the modern dramatic writers were assembled, 
adorned a vestibule to the Temple of Fame. Here, too, 
the goddesses of the arts had their places, and the whole 
was dignified and beautiful. But now comes the odd part ! 
Through the open centre was seen the portal of the distant 
temple, and a man in a light jerkin was making his way 
between the two above-mentioned groups, without troubling 
himself about them, directly towards the temple ; it was 
therefore his back that was seen, and there was nothing 
particularly striking about the figure. Now this man was to 
represent Shakspeare, who, without predecessors or followers, 
unconcerned as to models, pursued his own way to im- 
mortality. This work was executed in the great loft over 
the new theatre. We often assembled round him there, and 
it was there that I read aloud to him the proof-sheets of 
Musarlon, 

As to myself, I made no progress at all in the practical 
side of art. His instruction influenced our mind and our 
taste ; but his own drawing was too undecided to point me 
to a correct and definite style, seeing that I was only groping 
my way among the objects of art and nature. Of faces 
and bodies he gave us rather the aspect than the forms, 
rather the postures than the proportions. He gave us an 
idea of the figures, and desired that we should realize them 
for ourselves. That would have been right and proper if 
he had not had only beginners before him. Though, on 
this account it might be denied that he possessed a pre- 
eminent talent for instruction, on the other hand it was 



1768-70] INFLUENCE OF OESER 279 

acknowledged that he was very discreet and politic, and that 
a happy adroitness of mind qualified him very peculiarly for 
a teacher in a higher sense. The deficiencies under which 
each one laboured he saw clearly; but he disdained to 
reprove them directly, and rather hinted his praise and 
censure indirectly and very laconically. One was thus 
compelled to think the matter over, and rapidly advanced 
in judgment. Thus, for instance, I had very carefully 
drawn a nosegay on blue paper, after a copy in white and 
black chalk, and partly with the stump, partly by hatching, 
had tried to make the little picture stand out. After I 
had been labouring at it for a long time, once he came 
behind me and said : " More paper ! " and immediately 
withdrew. My neighbour and I puzzled our heads as to 
what this could mean : for my bouquet, on a large half-sheet, 
had plenty of space round it. After we had reflected a long 
while, we thought that we had at last discovered his meaning, 
when we noticed that by working the black and the white 
together, I had quite covered up the blue ground, had 
destroyed the middle tint, and, in fact, had with great 
industry produced a disagreeable drawing. For the rest, 
he did not fail to give us adequate instruction in perspective, 
and in light and shade, but always in such a way that we 
had to exert ourselves and cudgel our brains to find the 
application of the principles he gave us. Probably his aim 
with regard to us who did not intend to become artists, was 
only to form our judgment and taste, and to make us 
acquainted with the requisites of a work of art, without 
going so far as to require that we should produce one. 
Since, moreover, application was not my talent (for nothing 
gave me pleasure except what came to me at once), by 
degrees I became, if not lazy, at any rate discouraged, and 
as to know is less trouble than to do, I was quite content to 
follow wherever he chose to lead us after his own fashion. 

At this time the Lives of the Painters^ by D'Argenville, 
was translated into German ; I obtained it when quite new, 
and studied it assiduously. This seemed to please Oeser, 
and he procured us an opportunity of seeing many a port- 
folio out of the great Leipzig collections, and thus intro- 
duced us to the history of art. But even these exercises 
produced in me an effect different from that which he 



280 POETRY AND TRUTH [part ii. book viii 

probably had in mind. The manifold subjects which I saw 
treated by artists awakened the poetic talent in me, and 
just as an engraving is made to illustrate a poem, in the 
same way I now made poems to the engravings and draw- 
ings, by imagining the personages introduced in them in 
their previous and subsequent condition, and sometimes by 
composing a little song which might have suited them ; and 
thus I accustomed myself to consider the arts in connection 
with each other. Even my mistakes, in often making my 
poems descriptive, were of use to me subsequently, when I 
attained to greater discretion, by making me attentive to 
the, differences between the arts. Of such little things 
many were in the collection which Behrisch had arranged; 
but there is nothing left of them now. 

The atmosphere of art and taste in which Oeser lived, 
and into which one was drawn, provided one visited him 
frequently, was made the more valuable and delightful, by 
the fact that he was fond of remembering departed or absent 
persons with whom he had been, or still continued to be, in 
connection ; for if he had once accorded anyone his esteem, 
he remained unchanged in his attitude towards him, and 
always showed himself equally friendly. 

After we had heard Caylus extolled as pre-eminent 
among Frenchmen, he also made us acquainted with 
Germans who had done good work in this department. 
Thus we learned that Professor Christ had rendered 
valuable service to art as an amateur, collector, connoisseur, 
and colleague ; and had applied his learning ta its advance- 
ment. Heinecke, on the contrary, was not deserving of 
honourable mention, partly because he devoted himself too 
assiduously to the all too childish beginnings of German art, 
which Oeser esteemed lightly, partly because he had once 
treated Winckelmann shabbily, which could never be for- 
given him. Our attention, however, was earnestly directed 
to the work of Lippert, and our instructor knew how to 
set forth his merits plainly. " For," he said, " although 
statues and larger groups of sculpture remain the foundation 
and the summit of all knowledge of art, yet, whether 
originals or casts, they are seldom to be seen ; on the other 
hand, Lippert has opened up a little world of gems, in 
which the more obvious merit of the ancients, their happy 



1768-70] FEELING FOR ART IN LEIPZIG 28 1 

invention, judicious composition, tasteful treatment, are 
brought out more clearly and intelligibly, while, from the 
great number of them, comparison is much more possible." 
While we were using every opportunity for studying these 
treasures, our attention was directed to Winckelmann's 
lofty devotion to art in Italy, and we handled his earliest 
writings with reverence; for Oeser had a passionate 
admiration for him, which he easily instilled into us. It is 
true, we failed to decipher the problematical part of those 
little treatises, which were, besides, made obscure by their 
irony, and referred to very special opinions and events ; but 
as Oeser's influence was traceable in them, and as he con- 
stantly preached to us the gospel of the beautiful, and still 
more of the tasteful and the pleasing, we were able to 
discover the general drift, and had the more confidence in 
the justice of our interpretation, in view of our great good 
fortune in filling our pitchers at the same fountain from 
which Winckelmann had first allayed his thirst. 

No greater good fortune can befall a city, than when a 
number of cultivated men, of like mind in what is good and 
right, live together in it. Leipzig had this advantage, and 
enjoyed it the more peacefully, as so many divergences of 
opinion had not yet manifested themselves. Huber, a 
print collector, and an experienced connoisseur, had besides 
the recognized merit of having determined to make the 
worth of German literature known to the French ; Kreuch- 
AUF, an amateur with a practised eye, who, as a friend of 
the whole artistic society of Leipzig, was entitled to regard 
all collections as his own ; Winkler, who loved to share 
with others the intelligent delight which he took in his 
treasures, and many more belonging to the same circle, all 
lived and laboured with one feeling ; and often as I was per- 
mitted to be present when they examined works of art, I do 
not remember that a dispute ever arose : the school from which 
the artist had proceeded, the time in which he lived, the 
peculiar talent which nature had bestowed on him, and the 
degree of excellence attained in his work, were always fairly 
considered. There was no prejudice in favour of religious 
or of secular subjects, in favour of rural or of urban scenes, 
in favour of animate or inanimate nature ; the question was 
always artistic truth. 



282 POETRY AND TRUTH [part ii. book viii 

Now although by situation, modes of thought, abilities, 
and opportunities, these amateurs and collectors inclined 
chiefly to the Dutch school, yet, while training their eyes to 
recognize the endless merits of the artists of the north-west, 
a look of reverential longing was always turned towards the 
south-east. 

And so the university, where I disregarded the intentions 
of my family and my own as well, laid the foundation of 
what afterwards afforded me the greatest satisfaction of my 
life ; the memory of those places, too, in which I received 
such lasting stimulus, has always remained to me most dear 
and precious. The old Pleissenburg, the rooms of the 
Academy, but, above all, the abode of Oeser, and no less 
the collections of Winkler and Richter, still live vividly 
before me. 

But a young man who, while older persons are con- 
versing with each other on subjects already familiar 
to them, is only given incidental hints and receives no 
assistance in the most difficult task of reducing what he 
hears to order, inevitably finds himself in a very uncomfort- 
able position. I therefore, as well as others, looked long- 
ingly for some new light, which ^eventually came to us from 
a man to whom we owed so much already. 

The mind is susceptible of true pleasure from two 
sources, perception and conception. But the former de- 
mands a worthy object, which is not always at hand, and 
an adequate degree of culture, which one may not have 
attained. Conception, on the other hand, requires only 
receptivity ; it brings its subject-matter with it, and is itself 
a means of culture. Hence the beam of light shed upon us 
through dark clouds by the greatest of thinkers was most 
welcome to us. One must be a young man to realize the 
effect which Lessing's Laocoon produced upon us, by trans- 
porting us out of the region of meagre perception into the 
open fields of thought. The so long misunderstood ut 
pictura poesis was quelled once for all, the difference between 
plastic and literary art * was made clear, the summits of the 
two now stood out distinctly, however closely their bases 
might border on each other. The plastic artist ought not 
to overstep the limits of the beautiful, even if the literary 
* " Bildende und redende Kunst." 



1768-70] lessing's laocoon 283 

artist, who cannot dispense with the significant in any form, 
is permitted to roam beyond them. The former appeals to 
the external senses, which are satisfied only by the beautiful ; 
the latter to the imagination, which is capable of reconciling 
itself to the ugly. All the consequences of this splendid 
thought were illumined to us as by a lightning flash ; all the 
criticism which had hitherto offered guidance and passed 
judgment was cast aside like a worn-out coat; we con- 
sidered ourselves freed from all evil, and thought ourselves 
justified in looking down with a certain compassion upon 
the sixteenth century— the sixteenth century in other 
respects so splendid — in which life was represented by 
German sculpture and poetry only in the guise of a fool 
jingling his bells, death in the hideous shape of a rattling 
skeleton, and the inevitable and accidental evils of the 
world under the image of a grotesque devil. 

We were charmed most of all with the beauty of the 
thought, that the ancients had recognized death as the 
brother of sleep, and, as becomes Menaechmi, had repre- 
sented them so like one another as to be indistinguishable. 
Now for the first time we could do high honour to the 
triumph of the beautiful, and Felegate the ugly of every kind 
to the low sphere of the ridiculous in the kingdom of art, 
seeing it is impossible to banish it entirely from the world. 

The splendour of such vital and fundamental concep- 
tions is only apparent to the mind which is stirred by 
their infinite fruitfulness, and likewise only to the age in 
which, in response to its longing, they appear at the right 
moment. Then those who stand in need of such spiritual 
sustenance, gladly live upon it during whole periods of their 
lives, and rejoice in a marvellous growth; meanwhile, there 
are others who forthwith set themselves against such an 
influence, and others who afterwards haggle about and cavil 
at its high meaning. 

But as conception and perception mutually require each 
other, I could not long continue to make practical use of 
these new ideas, without conceiving an insatiable longing to 
see for once a considerable number of these great works of 
art. I therefore determined to visit Dresden without delay. 
I was not in want of the necessary cash ; but there were other 
diflSculties in my way, which I increased needlessly through 



284 POETRY AND TRUTH [part ii. book viii 

my foolish fancies; for I kept my purpose a secret from 
everyone, because I wished to contemplate the treasures of 
art there quite independently, and was determined that no 
one should interfere with me. Besides this, so simple a 
matter was complicated by still another eccentricity. 

We have weaknesses, both by birth and by education, 
and it may be questioned which of the two gives us the 
most trouble. Willingly as I made myself familiar with all 
sorts of conditions, and many as had been my inducements 
to do so, an excessive aversion to all inns had nevertheless 
been instilled into me by my father. This feeling had 
become rooted in him on his travels through Italy, France, 
and Germany. Although he seldom used figurative lan- 
guage, and only had recourse to it when he was in a very 
good temper, yet he used often to repeat that he always 
fancied he saw a great cobweb stretched across the gate of 
an inn, so ingeniously that insects could fly in, but even the 
privileged wasps could not fly out again unfleeced. It 
seemed to him horrible, that one should be obliged to pay 
immoderately for renouncing one's habits and all that made 
life pleasant, and living as the innkeeper and waiters chose. 
He praised the hospitality of olden times, and, in spite of his 
usual dislike to anything unusual in the house, he yet prac- 
tised hospitality, especially towards artists and virtuosi ; thus 
our friend Seekatz always took up his quarters with us, and 
Abel, the last nmsician to handle the viol di gamba with 
success and applause, was kindly received and entertained. 
With such early impressions, which as yet nothing had 
obliterated, how could I make up my mind to set foot in an 
inn in a strange city ? Nothing would have been easier 
than to find a lodging with good friends. Hofrat Krebel, 
Assessor Hermann, and others had often suggested it ; but 
even to these my trip was to remain a secret, and I hit upon 
a most singular notion. My next-room neighbour, the 
industrious theologian, whose eyes unfortunately constantly 
grew weaker, had a relation in Dresden, a shoemaker, with 
whom from time to time he corresponded. For a long 
while this man had interested me greatly on account of his 
expressions of opinion, and the arrival of one of his letters 
was always celebrated by us as an event. The mode in 
which he replied to the lamentations of his cousin, who 



1768-70] THE DRESDEN SHOEMAKER 285 

feared blindness, was quite peculiar ; for he did not trouble 
about grounds for consolation, which are always hard to 
find ; but the cheerful way in which he regarded his own 
narrow, poverty-stricken, toilsome life, the mirth which he 
derived even from ills and hardships, the indestructible 
conviction that life is in itself a blessing, communicated 
itself to the reader of the letter, and, for the moment at 
least, transported him into a like mood. In my enthusiasm 
I had often sent polite messages to this man, extolled his 
happy disposition, ancj expressed the wish to make his 
acquaintance. All this being premised, nothing seemed to 
me more natural than that I should seek him out, converse 
with him, nay, lodge with him, and get to know him inti- 
mately. My good theologian, after some opposition, gave 
me a laboriously written letter to take with me, and, full of 
eager expectation, I drove to Dresden in the yellow coach, 
with my credentials in my pocket. 

I looked for my shoemaker, and soon found him in a 
suburb of the town. He received me in a friendly manner, 
sitting upon his stool, and said smiling, after he had read 
the letter, " I see from this, young Sir, that you are a funny 
Christian." "How so, master?" I replied. "No offence 
meant by * funny,* " he continued ; " one calls everyone 
so who is not consistent with himself; and I call you a funny 
Christian because you acknowledge yourself a follower of 
our Lord in one thing, but not in another," On my re- 
questing him to enlighten me, he said further : " It seems 
that your intention is to announce glad tidings to the poor 
and lowly ; tliat is good, and this imitation of the Lord is 
praiseworthy. But you should reflect besides, that he pre- 
ferred to sit down to table with rich and prosperous folks, 
where there was good fare, and that he himself did not 
despise the sweet scent of the ointment, of which you will 
find the opposite in my house." 

This merry beginning put me at once in good-humour, 
and we rallied each other for some time. His wife stood 
in perplexity as to how she should board and lodge such 
a guest. On this point, too, he had happy ideas, and alluded 
not only to the Bible, but also to GottfriecTs Chrenicle^ and 
when it was agreed that I should stay, I gave my purse, as 
it was, into the charge of my hostess, and requested her to 



286 POETRY AND TRUTH [part ir. book viii 

furnish herself from it, if anything should be necessary. When 
he would have declined it, and somewhat waggishly gave 
me to understand that he was not so burnt out as he might 
appear, I disarmed him by saying, " Even if it were only 
to change water into wine, such an approved domestic 
expedient would not be out of place, since miracles do not 
happen now-a-days." The hostess seemed to find my con- 
duct less and less strange ; we had soon adapted ourselves 
to one another, and spent a very merry evening. He 
remained always the same, because there was but one 
source of all his conduct. He possessed sound common- 
sense, based upon a cheerful disposition, and he delighted 
in uniform accustomed activity. Incessant labour was a 
prime necessity to him ; the fact that he regarded all else 
of secondary importance, preserved his peace of mind ; and 
I felt bound to accord him a high place in the class of those 
who are called practical philosophers, unconscious sages. 

The hour when the gallery was to open, which I had 
awaited with impatience, arrived. I entered this sanctum, 
and my astonishment surpassed all previous conception. 
This salon, memorable in itself, in which splendour and 
cleanliness reigned together with the deepest stillness, the 
dazzling frames, all nearer to the time in which they had 
been gilded, the polished floor, the rooms entered by spec- 
tators more frequently than by copyists, — all imparted a 
feeling of solemnity, unique of its kind, which resembled 
the sensation with which one enters a church, all the more 
as the adornments of so many a temple, the objects of 
so much adoration, were to be seen set up here, solely for 
the sacred purposes of art. I put up with the cursory 
description of my guide ; only I requested that I might be 
allowed to remain in the outer gallery. Here, to my delight, 
I felt myself completely at home. I had already seen the 
works of several of the artists, others I knew from engrav- 
ings, others by name. I did not conceal my knowledge, 
and thus inspired my guide with some confidence ; as a 
matter of fact, the rapture which I expressed at pieces in 
which the brush had gained the victory over nature, de- 
lighted him; for these were the works which principally 
attracted me, where the comparison with nature as we know 
it must necessarily enhance the value of art. 



1768-70] COUNSELLOR RIEDEL 287 

>Vhen I returned to my shoemaker*s house for dinner, 
I could scarcely believe my eyes; for I seemed to see 
before me a picture of Ostade's, so perfect that it needed 
only to be hung in the gallery. The position of the objects, 
the light, the shadow, the brownish tint of the whole, the 
magical harmony, everything that one admires in those 
pictures, I saw here in reality. It was the first time that 
I recognized with such clearness the faculty which I after- 
wards exercised with more consciousness, namely, that of 
seeing nature with the eyes of this or that artist, whose 
works I had just studied with particular attention. This 
faculty has afforded me much enjoyment, but has also 
increased the desire to devote myself eagerly from time 
to time to the exercise of a talent which nature seemed 
to have denied me. 

I visited the gallery at all permitted hours, and con- 
tinued to express too loudly my ecstasy at many delightful 
works. I thus frustrated my praiseworthy intention of 
remaining unknown and unnoticed ; and whereas only one 
of the under-curators had hitherto attended to me, the 
director of the gallery. Counsellor Riedel, now took notice 
of me, and directed my attention to many things which 
seemed to lie particularly within my sphere. I found 
this excellent man just as energetic and obliging then as 
during many years of intercourse at a later date, and as 
he shows himself to this day. His image has become so 
closely interwoven in my mind with those treasures of art, that 
I can never think of the two apart ; the remembrance of him 
went with me even to Italy, where, in many large and rich 
collections, his presence would have been very highly valued. 

Since, even amid strangers and unknown persons, it is 
impossible to gaze on works such as these in silence and 
without an interchange of sympathy, nay, since the sight 
of them is pre-eminently adapted to open the heart towards 
others, I there entered into conversation with a young man 
apparently a resident in Dresden, and a member of some 
embassy. He invited me to come in the evening to an inn 
where lively company was wont to meet, and where, by 
paying a moderate reckoning, some very pleasant hours 
■^ight be passed. 
"' I repaired thither, but did not find the company; 



288 POETRY AND TRUTH [part ii. book viii 

and the waiter somewhat surprised me when he delivered 
the compliments of the gentleman who had made the 
appointment with me, with an excuse for coming somewhat 
later, and the message that I was not to take offence at 
anything that might occur ; also, that I should have nothing 
to pay beyond my own score. I did not know what to 
make of these words ; but my father's cobwebs came into 
my head, and I made up my mind to be prepared for 
whatever might befall. The company assembled, my 
acquaintance introduced me, and it did not take long to 
discover that the business in hand was the mystification of 
a young man, who showed himself a novice by arrogant 
and conceited behaviour ; I was, therefore, very much on 
my guard, lest they should see good to select me as his 
fellow. At table their intention became more obvious to 
everybody, except to the person chiefly concerned. They 
drank deeper and deeper, and when a toast in honour of 
sweethearts was proposed, everyone solemnly swore that 
those glasses should never be drunk out of again ; they 
flung them behind them; and this was the signal for far 
greater follies. At last I withdrew, very quietly, and the 
waiter, while presenting a very moderate reckoning, re- 
quested me to come again, as there were not such wild 
goings-on every evening. It was a long way to my lodgings, 
and it was near midnight when I reached them. I found 
the doors unlocked, everybody was in bed, and one lamp 
illuminated the simple interior, where my eye, more and more 
practised, immediately perceived one of the most beautiful 
pictures by Schalken ; I could not shake off the impression, 
which therefore banished all sleep. 

The few days of my stay in Dresden were devoted ex- 
clusively to the picture-gallery. The antiques still stood in 
the pavilions in the great garden, but I refused to see them, 
as well as all the other treasures which Dresden contained ; 
as I was but too fully convinced that much of and in the 
collection of paintings must inevitably still remain unex- 
plored. Thus I chose to take the excellence of the Italian 
masters on trust, rather than pretend to any insight into 
them. What I could not regard as nature, put in the place 
of nature, and compare with some well-known object, ma'w 
no appeal to me. It is the impression derived from tr^^ 



1768-70] STATE OF DRESDEN 289 

objects depicted which constitutes the first step towards the 
more advanced stages in the cultivation of art. 

With my shoemaker I lived on very good terms. He 
was witty and versatile enough, and we often outvied each 
other in merry quips ; nevertheless, a man who thinks him- 
self happy, and desires others to do the same, makes us 
discontented ; indeed, the repetition of such sentiments pro- 
duces weariness. I found myself well occupied, entertained, 
excited, but by no means happy ; and the shoes from his 
last would not fit me. We parted, however, as the best of 
friends j and even my hostess, when I left^ was not dissatisfied 
with me. 

Shortly before my departure, something else very plea- 
sant was to happen to me. By the mediation of that same 
young man, who wished to regain credit with me, I was 
introduced to the Director Von Hagedorn, who most kindly 
showed me his collection, and was highly delighted with 
the enthusiasm of the young lover of art. He himself, as 
becomes a connoisseur, was absolutely in love with the 
pictures which he possessed, and therefore seldom found 
in others an interest to equal his own. It caused him 
particular joy that I was extraordinarily pleased with a 
picture by Schwanefeld, and that I never tired of praising 
and extolling it in every single detail ; for it was precisely 
landscapes which reminded me of the beautiful clear sky 
under which I had grown up, the luxuriant flora of those 
spots, and whatever other favours a warm climate affords to 
man, that appealed to me most when reproduced by art, 
and awakened in me a longing remembrance. 

The delight of these experiences, preparing both mind 
and sense for true art, was nevertheless interrupted and 
subdued by one of the most melancholy sights, namely, 
the ruined and desolate condition of so many streets of 
Dresden through which I took my way. The Mohrenstrasse 
in ruins, and the KreuzJurche (Church of the Cross), with its 
shattered tower, impressed themselves deeply upon me, and 
still stand like a gloomy spot in my imagination. From the 
cupola of the Fratunkirche (Church of Our Lady) I saw these 
pitiable ruins standing here and there in the midst of the 
well-ordered city. It was here that the verger commended 
the art of the architect, who had constructed church and 
VOL. I. u 



290 POETRY AND TRUTH [part ii. book viii 

cupola in view of so undesirable a contingency, and had built 
them bomb-proof. He then pointed out to me the ruins on 
all sides, and said with laconic significance, " That was done 
by t/ie enemy I " 

So, at last, though unwillingly, I returned to Leipzig, and 
found my friends, who were not used to such vagaries in me, 
in great astonishment, busied with all sorts of conjectures as 
to what might be the import of my mysterious journey. 
When hereupon I duly told them my story, they declared it 
was a made-up tale, and sagaciously tried to get at the 
bottom of the riddle which I had waggishly conc^ed under 
my shoemaker-lodgings. 

But could they have looked into my heart, they would 
have discovered no waggery there ; for the truth of that old 
proverb, " He that increaseth knowledge increaselh sorrow," 
had made itself felt in me with all its force ; and the more I 
struggled to arrange and assimilate what I had seen, the less 
I succeeded. I had at last to content myself to silently 
await the after-effects. Ordinary life engulfed me again, and 
in the end I felt myself quite contented when friendly inter- 
course, increase in knowledge suitable for me, and a certain 
acquired skill of hand, occupied me in a manner less 
important, but more in accordance with my strength. 

Very pleasant and wholesome for me was the connection 
which I formed with the Breitkopf family. Bernhard 
Christoph Breitkopf, the real founder of the family, who 
had come to Leipzig as a poor journeyman printer, was still 
alive, and occupied the Golden Bear, a substantial building in 
the new Newmarket, with Gottsched as an inmate. The son, 
Johann Gottlob Immanuel, had been long married, and was 
the father of several children. They thought they could not 
spend a part of their considerable wealth more suitably than 
by erecting a large new house opposite the first one, called 
the Silver Bear, and built on a larger and more extensive 
scale than the original house. It was just at the time of the 
building that I became acquainted with the family. The 
eldest son might have been some years older than I, a well- 
built young man, devoted to music, and a masterly player of 
both the piano and the violin. The second, a good, kindly 
fellow, also musical, gave life to the concerts which were 
often got up, no less than his elder brother. They were both 



1768-70] TASTE FOR ETCHING 29! 

kindly disposed towards me, as were their parents and sisters. 
I lent them a helping-hand during the building and fitting 
up, the furnishing and moving in, and thus gained an 
insight into much that such a process entails; I also had 
an opportunity of seeing Oeser's instructions put in practice. 
In the new house, which I had seen grow up, I was a 
frequent visitor. We had many pursuits in common, and the 
eldest son set some of my songs to music, which, when 
printed, bore his name, but not mine, and were known to few. 
I have selected the best, and inserted them among my other 
little poems. The father had invented or perfected musical 
type. He permitted me the use of a fine library, which 
related principally to the origin and progress of printing, and 
thus I gained some knowledge in this subject. I found there, 
moreover, good copper-plates on classical subjects, and 
continued my studies in this direction also ; they were further 
promoted by the circumstance that a considerable collection 
of casts had been disarranged in the moving. I rearranged 
them as well as I could, and in doing so was compelled to 
consult Lippert and other authorities. I asked a physician, 
Doctor Reichel, likewise an inmate of the house, to 
prescribe for me from time to time when I felt, though 
not ill, yet unwell ; and thus we led a quiet, pleasant life 
together. 

I was now to enter into another sort of connection in this 
house ; for the copper-plate engraver. Stock, moved into the 
attic. He was a native of Nuremberg, a very industrious 
man, and precise and methodical in his work. He also, 
like Geyser, engraved, after Oeser's designs, large and 
small plates, which were more and more in request for 
novels and poems. He etched very neatly, so that his work 
came out of the aquafortis almost finished, and but little 
touching-up remained to be done with the graver, which he 
handled very skilfully. He made an exact calculation how 
long a plate would take him, and nothing had power to call 
him from his work if he had not completed the daily task he 
had set himself. Thus he sat at a broad work-table, by the 
great gable-window, in a very clean and tidy chamber, where 
his wife and two daughters afforded him domestic society. 
Of these last, one is happily married, and the other is an 
excellent artist ; they have continued my friends all my life 



292 POETRY AND TRUTH [part ii. book viii 

long. I now divided my time between the upper and lower 
storeys, and attached myself much to the man, who, in spite 
of his persistent industry, possessed an excellent sense of 
humour, and was good-nature itself. 

The clear-cut style of this branch of art charmed me, and 
I associated with him with the intention of executing some- 
thing of the kind. My predilection was again directed 
towards landscape, which, while it was my companion in my 
solitary walks, seemed in itself not unattainable, and more 
within the scope of works of art than the human figure, which 
I was afraid to attempt Under his directions, therefore, I 
etched various landscapes after Thiele and others, which, 
although executed by an unpractised hand, were not 
ineffective, and were well received. The grounding 
of the plates, the putting in the high lights, the etching 
itself, and at last the biting with aquafortis, gave me 
variety of occupation, and I soon got so far that I could 
assist my master in various ways. I did not lack the attention 
necessary for the biting, and I seldom had a failure ; but I 
had not the prudence to guard against the deleterious 
vapours generated in the process, and these may have 
contributed to the maladies which afterwards troubled me 
for a time. In the intervals, in order to leave nothing 
unattempted, I often made wood-cuts. I prepared various 
little printing-blocks after French patterns, and many of them 
were found useful. 

I^et me here make mention of some other men who 
resided in Leipzig, or stayed there for a short time. Weisse, 
the custom-house collector of the district, in the prime of life, 
cheerful, friendly, and obliging, was loved and esteemed by 
us. We would not, indeed, allow that his theatrical pieces 
were absolute models, but we let ourselves be carried 
away by them, and his operas, set to music by Hiller in a 
facile manner, gave us much pleasure. Schiebler, of 
Hamburg, followed in his steps; and his Lisuart and 
Dariolette likewise enjoyed our favour. Eschenburg, a 
handsome young man, but little older than ourselves, con- 
trasted favourably with other students. Zachari/E was 
pleased to spend some weeks with us, and by the introduction 
of his brother dined at the same table with us. We rightly 
deemed it an honour to gratify our guest in return, by a few 



1768-70] WINCKELMANN 293 

extra dishes, a richer dessert, and choicer wine ; for he was 
a tall, well-formed, comfort-loving man, who did not conceal 
a predilection for good eating. Lessing came at a time when 
I know not what possessed us ; we took it into our heads not 
to go anywhere on his account, nay, even to avoid the places 
he visited, probably because we thought ourselves too good 
to stand at a distance, and could make no claims to a closer 
intimacy with him. This momentary folly, which, however, 
is not uncommon in the conceit and fancifulness of youth, 
proved, indeed, its own punishment in the sequel ; for I have 
never set eyes on that eminent man, whom I esteemed most 
highly. 

But in all our efforts relating to art and antiquity, each 
of us always looked up to Winckelmann, whose ability 
received enthusiastic acknowledgment in his fatherland. We 
read his writings diligently, and tried to make ourselves 
acquainted with the circumstances under which he had 
written the first of them. We found in them many views 
which seemed to have originated with Oeser, even jests and 
fancies after his fashion, and we did not rest until we had 
formed some idea of the occasion which had given birth to 
these remarkable and sometimes enigmatical writings; at 
the same time, our investigations were not very accurate, for 
youth prefers stimulus to instruction, and it was not the last 
time that I was to be indebted to Sibylline books for an 
important step forward in my development. 

It was then a good time for literature, when eminent 
men were still treated with respect, although the disputes of 
Klotz and Lessing's controversies indicated that this epoch 
would soon close. Winckelmann enjoyed universal, un- 
questioned veneration, and it is known how sensitive he 
was with regard to any public expression of opinion which 
did not seem commensurate with his conscious dignity. 
All the periodical publications joined in his praise, the 
better class of tourists quitted him instructed and enraptured, 
and the new views which he advanced found their way 
into science and life. The Prince of Dessau had won for 
himself a similar regard. Young, right-minded, and magnani- 
mous, on his travels and at other times he had shown him- 
self worthy of love and esteem. Winckelmann was greatly 
charmed with him, and, whenever he mentioned him, loaded 



294 POETRY AND TRUTH [part ii. book viii 

him with the most complimentary epithets. The laying 
out of a park, unique in its time, the taste for architecture, 
which von Erdmannsdorf assisted by practical effort, all 
spoke in favour of a prince, who, while he was a shining 
example to his fellow-men, gave promise of a golden age 
for his servants and subjects. We young people now 
learned with rejoicings that Winckelmann was about to 
return from Italy, visit his princely friend, call on Oeser by 
the way, and so come within our sphere of vision. We 
could lay no claim to speak with him, but we hoped to see 
him ; and as at that time of life every occasion is seized for 
organizing a pleasure-party, we had already arranged a ride 
and drive to Dessau, where, in a beautiful spot, made 
glorious by art, happy in its government and natural scenery, 
we determined to lie in wait now at this point, now at that, 
in the hopes of seeing with our own eyes those men so far 
above us, as they walked about. Oeser himself was quite 
elated at the mere thought, and the news of Winckelmann's 
death fell upon us like a thunderbolt from a clear sky. I 
still remember the place where I first heard it ; it was in 
the court of the Pleissenburg, not far from the little gate 
through which we used to go up to Oeser's residence. One 
of my fellow-pupils met me and told me that we could not 
see Oeser, with the reason why. This dreadful event* made 
a profound impression; there was universal mourning and 
lamentation, and Winckelmann's untimely death accentuated 
the attention paid to the value of his life. Perhaps, indeed, 
the influence of his work, if it had been continued to a 
more advanced age, might not have been so great as it now 
was, when like many other extraordinary men, fate marked 
him out by a strange and hideous end. 

While I w^as feeUng a boundless grief at the death of 
Winckelmann, it did not occur to me that I should soon 
be in a state of apprehension for my own life : for, during 
all these events, my bodily condition had not taken the 
most favourable turn. I had brought with me from home 
a certain tendency to hypochondria, which, in this new 
sedentary and lounging life, was strengthened rather than 
diminished. The pain in my breast, which I had felt from 
time to time ever since the accident at Auerstadt, and 
* Winckelmann was assassinated. — Trans. 



1768.70] GOETHE'S LOSS OF HEALTH 295 

which had perceptibly increased after a fall from horseback, 
made me dejected. By an unfortunate diet I destroyed 
my powers of digestion ; the heavy Merseburg beer clouded 
my brain ; the coffee, which produced a peculiar depression, 
especially when taken with milk after dinner, paralyzed my 
bowels, and seemed completely to suspend their functions, 
so that I experienced great uneasiness on this account, 
without having sufficient resolution to adopt a more rational 
mode of life. My spirits, sustained by ample youthful 
strength, fluctuated between the extremes of imrestrained 
gaiety and melancholy discomfort. Besides this, the epoch 
of the cold water bath, enjoined on all unconditionally, 
had just begun. One was told to sleep on a hard bed, only 
lightly covered, and by this means all the usual perspira- 
tion was suppressed. These and other follies, in consequence 
of some misunderstood suggestions of Rousseau, would, it 
was promised, bring us nearer to nature, and deliver us 
from the corruption of morals. Now, all these practices, 
adopted without discrimination, and with foolish incon- 
sistency, were found by many to have the most injurious 
consequences, and I goaded what had been in the first 
instance a sound constitution to such a degree, that the 
particular organs contained in it were at last forced to 
break out into conspiracy and revolution, in order to save 
the whole. 

One night I awoke with a violent haemorrhage, and had 
just strength and presence of mind enough to waken my 
neighbour in the next room. Dr. Reichel was called in, 
who assisted me in the kindest manner ; and for many days 
I hovered betwixt life and death ; and even the joy of 
subsequent improvement was embittered by the circum- 
stance that, during the haemorrhage, a swelling had formed 
on the left side of the neck, which they only found time 
to notice after the danger was past. Recovery is, however, 
always pleasant and delightful, even though progress is slow 
and painful; and since nature had asserted herself in me, 
I seemed to have become another man : for I had gained 
a greater cheerfulness of mind than I had known for a long 
time, and I was rejoiced to feel my inner self set free, 
although externally a lengthy illness threatened me. 

But what particularly revived me at this time was to 



296 POETRY AND TRUTH [part 11. book viii 

see how many eminent men had, undeservedly, given me 
their affection. Undeservedly, I say ; for there was not one 
among them whom I had not troubled by my tiresome 
vagaries, not one whom I had not more than once wounded 
by a morbid spirit of contradiction, and whom I had not 
stubbornly avoided for a time, from a consciousness of my 
own misbehaviour. All this was forgotten; they treated 
me in the most affectionate manner, and sought to amuse 
and divert me, either in my chamber or elsewhere, as soon as 
I could leave it. They drove out with me, entertained me 
at their country-houses, and I seemed to recover rapidly. 

Among these friends I name first of all Doctor Hermann, 
then senator, afterwards burgomaster of Leipzig. He was 
one of the fellow-boarders to whom Schlosser had introduced 
me, the one with whom I always kept up the same unchang- 
ing connection. He was probably the most industrious of 
our academical fellow-citizens. He attended his lectures with 
the greatest regularity, and his private industry never flagged. 
Step by step, without the slightest deviation from his course, 
I saw him attain his Doctor's degree, and then rise to the 
assessorship, without any sign of undue effort, or of his 
having ever hurried or been behindhand in anything. The 
gentleness of his character attracted me, his instructive 
conversation held me; indeed I really believe that I took 
delight in his well-ordered industry, chiefly because I hoped, 
by recognizing and valuing it, to appropriate to myself at 
least in some degree a virtue of which I could by no means 
boast. 

He was just as methodical in the exercise of his talents 
and the enjoyment of his pleasures as in his business. He 
played the harpsichord with great skill, drew from nature 
with feeling, and stimulated me to do the same ; accordingly 
I used to sketch, in his manner, on grey paper and with 
black and white chalk, many a willow-plot on the Pleisse, 
and many a lovely nook of those still waters, and at the 
same time indulged my longing fancies. He knew how to 
respond to my sometimes comical humour with merry jests, 
and I remember many pleasant hours spent together when 
he invited me, with mock solemnity, to a tite-d-tite supper, 
where, with some dignity, by the light of wax candles, we 
would discuss a so-called council-hare, which had found its 



1768-70] KINDNESS OF FRIENDS 297 

way into his kitchen as a perquisite of his office, and were 
wont to season the viands and heighten the spirit of the 
wine with jokes after the manner of Behrisch. This 
excellent man, who is still active in the fulfilment of his 
important duties, rendered me the most faithful assistance 
during a disease, of which there had, indeed, been indica- 
tions, but the seriousness of which was unforeseen ; he be- 
stowed every leisure hour upon me^ and succeeded in cheering 
the gloomy moment with memories of former happy times. 
For all this I still owe him the sincerest thanks, and rejoice- 
that after so long a time I can give them publicly. 

Besides this dear friend, Groening of Bremen particu- 
larly interested himself in me. I had made his acquaintance 
only a short time before, and first discovered his good 
feeling towards me during my misfortune ; I felt the value 
of this kindness the more warmly, as people are not apt to 
seek intimate relations with invalids. He shunned no 
sacrifice to give me pleasure, to distract me from musing on 
my situation, to hold up before me the promise of recovery 
and a healthy activity in the immediate future. How often 
have I rejoiced, as life advanced, to hear how this excellent 
man has shown himself useful, and a blessing to his native 
city in the weightiest transactions ! 

It was now, too, that my friend Horn gave unceasing 
proof of his love and attention. The whole Breitkopf house- 
hold, the Stock family, and many others, treated me like a 
near relative ; and thus, through the good- will of so many 
friendly persons, I was kept in the kindest way from 
realizing my condition. 

In this connection I must, however, make more detailed 
mention of a man^ whose acquaintance I first made at this 
time, and whose instructive conversation so far blinded me 
to the miserable state in which I was, that I actually forgot 
it. This was Langer, afterwards librarian at Wolfenbiittel. 
Eminently learned and well informed, he delighted in my 
voracious hunger for knowledge, which, with the irritability of 
sickness, now showed itself with feverish intensity. He tried 
to calm me by perspicuous summaries, and I owe much to his 
acquaintance, short as it was, since he knew how to guide me 
in various ways, and showed me what to aim at in my present 
state. I found myself the more obliged to this distinguished 



298 POETRY AND TRUTH [part ii. book viii 

man, as my intercourse exposed him to some danger : for 
when he succeeded Behrisch as tutor to the young Count 
Lindenau, the father of the latter made it an express con- 
dition widi the new Mentor that he should have no inter- 
course with me. Curious to become acquainted with such a 
dangerous subject, he frequently found means of meeting me 
indirectly. I soon gained his affection, and he, more prudent 
than Behrisch, called for me by night; we went walking 
together, conversed on interesting topics, and at last I 
. accompanied him to the very door of his mistress ; for even 
this externally severe, grave, scientific man had not kept free 
from the toils of a very amiable lady. 

For some time past I had not concerned myself with 
German literature, nor with my own poetical undertakings, 
and as usually happens in such self-planned educational 
courses, I again reverted to the beloved ancients, who still, 
like distant blue mountains, distinct in their outlines and 
grouping, but indistinguishable in their details and mutual 
relations, bounded the horizon of my intellectual aspira- 
tions. I made an exchange with Langer, in which I 
played the part of both Glaucus and Diomedes ; I supplied 
him with whole baskets of German poets and critics, and 
received in return a number of Greek authors, the reading of 
which was to give me recreation, even during the most tedious 
convalescence. 

The confidence which new friends repose in each other 
usually develops by degrees. Common occupations and 
pursuits are the first things in which mutual agreement 
shows itself; then generally follows the communication of 
past and present passions, especially of love affairs ; but 
a profounder depth must be reached if the relation is to be 
perfected ; the religious sentiments, the feelings of the heart 
which relate to the eternal, are what form the basis of a 
friendship as well as crown its highest point. 

The Christian religion was wavering between its own 
historically positive basis and a pure deism, which, based on 
morality, was in its turn to lay the foundation of ethics. 
The diversity of characters and modes of thought here 
showed itself in infinite gradations, especially since a 
fundamental difference made itself felt when the question 
arose as to what share the reason, and what share the 



1768-70] LANGER 299 

feelings could and should have in such convictions. The 
most wide-awake and intelligent men, in this instance, 
resembled butterflies, who, quite ibrgc^ful of their caterpillar 
state, cast aside the chrysalis-wrapping in which they have 
grown to organic perfection. Others, more loyal and modest 
in their attitude, might be compared to flowers, which, 
although they unfold in the fairest blossoms, yet do not wrest 
themselves from the root, from the mother stalk, nay, rather 
bring the hoped-for fruit to maturity by their very connection 
with what gave them birth. Of this latter class was Langer ; 
for, although a learned man, and extremely well-read, he 
would yet give the Bible a peculiar pre-eminence over other 
writings which have come down to us, and regarded it as 
a document from which alone we could prove our moral 
and spiritual descent. He belonged to those who cannot 
conceive an immediate relation to the great God of the 
universe ; a mediation, therefore, was necessary for him, an 
analogy to which he thought to discover everywhere in 
earthly and heavenly things. His discourse, which was 
pleasing and consistent, easily gained a hearing from a 
young man who, cut off from worldly things by troublesome 
illness, was very ready to turn the activity of his mind 
towards heavenly things. Believing firmly in the Bible, as I 
did, all that was wanted was the faith to regard as divine 
that which I had hitherto valued from a human point of 
view. It was the easier for me to gain this faith, since on 
my first acquaintance with the book I had held it to be 
divine. To a sufferer, to one who felt himself weak, nay, 
feeble, the gospel came as a welcome friend, and even 
though Langer, with all his faith, was a very sensible man, 
and insisted that one ought not to be dominated by one's 
feelings, nor let oneself be led into fanaticism, I should have 
found it difficult to occupy myself with the New Testament 
without emotion and enthusiasm. 

In such conversations we spent much time, and he 
regarded me as a loyal and well-prepared proselyte with so 
much affection, that be did not scruple to devote to me many 
of the hours intended for his fair one, and even to run the 
risk of being betrayed and looked upon unfavourably by his 
patron, like Behrisch. I returned his affection most grate- 
fully ; and if what he did for me would have been of value 



300 POETRY AND TRUTH [part ii. book viii 

at any time, I could not but regard it, in my present con- 
dition, as worthy of the highest honour. 

But when the spiritual concord of our souls is most har- 
moniously attuned, the harsh, grating tones of the world are 
wont to break in upon us most rudely and violently, and the 
hidden contrast which exists at all times is felt all the more 
bitterly when it is suddenly brought to light ; thus I was not 
to be dismissed from the peripatetic school of my friend 
Langer without having first witnessed an event, strange at 
least for Leipzig, namely, a tumult caused by the students, 
and under the following pretext. Some young people had 
quarrelled with the city soldiers, and blows had been 
exchanged. Several students combined together to revenge 
the injuries inflicted. The soldiers resisted stubbornly, and 
the advantage did not rest with the very discontented 
academical citizens. It was now said that respectable 
persons had commended and rewarded the conquerors for 
their valiant resistance, and this gave a powerful stimulus to 
the youthful feelings of honour and revenge. It was publicly 
said that the next evening windows would be broken, and 
some friends who brought me word that this was actually 
taking place, were persuaded to accompany me to the spot, 
for young men and crowds are always attracted by danger and 
tumult. There began a really strange spectacle. The other- 
wise empty street was lined on one side with men who, without 
noise or movement, were quietly waiting to see what would 
happen. About a dozen yoxmg fellows were walking singly 
up and down the empty thoroughfare, apparently with the 
greatest composure, but as soon as they came opposite the 
marked house, they threw stones at the windows as they 
passed by, and did so repeatedly as they walked backwards 
and forwards, till no panes were left to rattle. In the same 
quiet way in which all this had been done, all at last dis- 
persed, and the affair had no further consequences. 

With these university exploits still ringing in my ears, I 
left Leipzig in the September of 1768, in a comfortable 
hired coach, and in the company of some dependable 
persons of my acquaintance. In the neighbourhood of 
Auerstadt I thought of my previous accident ; but I could 
not foresee the yet greater danger that was to threaten me 
from that quarter many years later ; just as little as in Gotha 



1768-70] STATE OF Goethe's family 301 

where we were shown the castle^ I could imagine as I stood 
in the great hall adorned with stucco figures, that so great 
favour and affection would be shown me on that very spot. 

The nearer I approached my native city, the more I 
recalled with misgiving the circumstances, prospects, and 
hopes with which I had left home, and it was very depress- 
ing to feel that I was now returning like a shipwrecked 
mariner. Yet since I had nothing very much to reproach 
myself with, I became tolerably composed ; however, the 
welcome was not without emotion. The great vivacity of 
my nature, stimulated and heightened by sickness, caused an 
impassioned scene. Perhaps I looked worse than I myself 
knew, as for a long time I had not consulted a looking-glass ; 
and who does not become used to himself? At any rate, 
it was silently agreed that various communications should 
not be made all at once, and before all things I was to have 
both bodily and mental repose. 

My sister at. once became my companion, and, as from 
her letters previously, I could now learn from her lips the 
circumstances and state of the family, but with greater detail 
and accuracy. My father had, after my departure, concen- 
trated his pedagogic mania upon my sister, and in a house 
the doors of which were closed to society, rendered secure 
by peace, and even cleared of lodgers, he had cut her off 
from almost all intercourse with or recreation in the outer 
world. She had by turns to work at French, Italian, and 
English, besides which he compelled her to practise a great 
part of the day on the harpsichord. Her writing also could 
not be neglected, and I had already noticed that he directed 
her correspondence with me, and had transmitted his teach- 
ings to me through her pen. My sister was, and remained, a 
being who defied analysis, the most singular mixture of 
sternness and gentleness, of stubbornness and complaisance, 
and these qualities asserted themselves, sometimes simul- 
taneously, sometimes independently, at the dictates of will 
or affection. Thus she had, in a manner terrible to me, 
turned the hard side of her character towards her father, 
whom she could not forgive for having prevented or spoiled 
for her so many innocent joys during these three years, and 
she refused to recognize a single one of his good and 
excellent qualities. She did all that he commanded or 



302 POETRY AND TRUTH [part ii. book viii 

prescribed, but in the most unamiable manner in the world. 
She did it according to the usual routine, but not a bit more 
and not a bit less. She never made any concession from 
love or a desire to please, so that this was one of the first 
things of which my mother complained in a private con- 
versation with me. But since love was as essential to my 
sister as to any human being, she expended all her affection 
upon me. Her care in nursing and entertaining me absorbed 
all her time ; her companions, who were dominated by her 
without her knowing it, had likewise to devise various 
amusements and consolations for me. She invented many 
ways of cheering me, and even developed germs of comical 
humour which I had never known in her, and which became 
her very well. We soon invented a secret language of our 
own, which enabled us to converse before anybody without 
their understanding us^ and she often used this gibberish 
with great pertness in the presence of our parents. 

My father, for his part, led a life of tolerable comfort. 
He was in good health, spent a great part of the day in the 
instruction of my sister, continued to write the description of 
his travels, and spent more time in tuning his lute than in 
playing on it. At the same time he concealed, as well as he 
could, his vexation at finding in the place of a robust, active 
son, prepared to take his degree and follow the career marked 
out for him, an invalid who seemed to suffer more in mind 
than in body. He made no secret of his wish that my cure 
should be hurried on as much as possible ; and, in par- 
ticular, I had to be on my guard against hypochondriacal 
expressions in his presence, because they were apt to make 
him passionate and bitter. 

My mother, by nature very lively and cheerful, led a very 
tedious life under these circumstances. Her small amount 
of housekeeping was soon done. The mind of the good lady, 
never unoccupied, craved some interest, and the subject 
closest at hand was religion, which she welcomed the more 
warmly as her best friends were cultivated and ardent 
worshippers of God. At the head of these stood Fraulein 
voN Klettenberg. She is the same person whose conver- 
sations and letters were the source of the " Confessions of a 
Beautiful Soul," inserted in ** Wilhelm Meister." She was 
delicately formed, of medium height ; an attractive, unaffected 



1768-70] FRAULEIN VON KLETTENBERG 303 

manner had been rendered yet more pleasing by a know- 
ledge of the forms of social and court life. Her very neat 
attire reminded one of the dress of the Moravians. Her 
serenity and peace of mind never deserted her. She looked 
upon her sickness as a necessary part of her transient earthly 
existence ; she suffered with the greatest patience, and, in 
painless intervals, was animated and talkative. Her favourite, 
nay, indeed, perhaps her only topic, was the spiritual experi- 
ences which a thoughtful woman may trace in her own inner 
life ; with these were connected religious feelings, which she 
discussed in a very graceful manner, nay, with genius, as either 
natural or supernatural. It scarcely needs more to remind 
those interested in such descriptions of that detailed delinea- 
tion which had its origin in the very depths of her soul. 
Owing to the very peculiar course she had followed from her 
youth upwards, the distinguished rank in which she had been 
bom and educated, and the vigour and originality of her 
mind, she was not in complete harmony with the other ladies 
who had entered upon the same path to salvation. Frau 
Griesbach, the chief of them, seemed too severe, too dry, too 
learned; she knew, thought, went further than the others, 
who had enough to do with the development of their 
feelings, and she was therefore a trial to them, because not 
everyone either could or would carry with her so extensive 
an equipment on the road to bliss. But for this reason 
there was a certain monotony about most of them, seeing 
that they exclusively used a peculiar terminology which 
might be compared to that of the later sentimentalists. 
Fraulein von Klettenberg steered her course between both 
extremes, and appeared to trace with some complacency a 
counterpart to herself in the figure of Count Zinzendorf, 
whose opinions and actions bore witness to high birth and 
distinguished rank. She now found in me what she needed, a 
spirited youth, striving after an unknown happiness, who, 
although not conscious of extraordinary sin, yet was not at 
his ease, and did not enjoy perfect health either of body or 
soul. She took pleasure in what nature had given me, as 
well as in much that 1 had acquired. And if she admitted 
my superiority in many ways, this was by no means humiliat- 
ing to her : for, in the first place, she never thought of 
measuring herself with one of the opposite sex, and secondly, 



304 POETRY AND TRUTH [part ii. book viii 

she believed that in regard to religious culture she was very 
much in advance of me. She interpreted in her own way my 
disquiet, my impatience, my striving, my seeking and inquiry, 
my musing and wavering, and did not conceal from me her 
conviction, but assured me in plain terms, that all this pro- 
ceeded from my having no reconciled God. Now I had 
believed from my youth upwards that I stood on very good 
terms with my God, nay, I even fancied to myself, in view of 
various experiences, that He might even be in arrears in His 
account with me ; and I was daring enough to think that I 
had something to forgive Him. This presiunption was based 
on my infinite good intentions, which, it seemed to me, He 
should have assisted more actively. It may be imagined 
how often I and my friend fell into dispute on this subject, 
which, however, always terminated with absolute cordiality, 
and often, like my conversations with the old rector, with 
the remark, that I was a foolish fellow, and many allow- 
ances must be made for me. 

I was much troubled with the swelling in my neck, as the 
physician and surgeon first decided to disperse the growth, 
afterwards, as they said, to bring it to a head, and at last to 
open it ; so for a considerable time I had to suffer more 
from inconvenience than pain, although towards the end of 
the cure, the continual application of nitrate of silver and 
other caustic substances made the prospect of every new 
day unwelcome. The physician and surgeon both belonged 
to the pious Separatists, although they were of very different 
temperaments. The surgeon, a slight, well-built man, with a 
light, skilful touch, unfortunately had consumptive tendencies, 
but endured his condition with truly Christian patience, and 
did not suffer his disease to interfere with his profession. 
The physician was a man hard to understand, sagacious- 
looking, kindly-spoken, and, moreover, very reserved, who 
had won unusual confidence in the pious circle. Active and 
attentive, he brought comfort to the sick; but the chief 
means by which he extended his practice was by holding in 
reserve some mysterious medicines prepared by himself, of 
which no one might speak, since, with us, the physicians 
were strictly prohibited from making up their own pre- 
scriptions. About certain powders, perhaps some kind of 
digestive, he was not so reticent; but that powerful salt, 



1768-70] INTEREST IN ALCHEMY 305 

which might not be applied except in the most dangerous 
cases, was mentioned only among believers, although not one 
of them had seen it or experienced its effects. In the hopes 
of arousing and confirming belief in the possibility of such 
a universal remedy, the physician, wherever he found any 
disposition to believe, had recommended certain chemico- 
alchemical books to his patients, and given them to under- 
stand that this treasure might be attained by personal study 
of them ; this was the more essential, as the mode of its 
preparation could not be transmitted, both for physical 
and still more for moral reasons; nay, in order to 
comprehend, produce, and use this great discovery, the 
secrets of nature in their mutual relation must be known, 
since its nature was not particular but universal, and might 
in truth assume various forms and shapes. My friend had 
listened to these enticing words. The health of the body 
was too nearly allied to the health of the soul ; and could a 
greater benefit, a greater mercy be shown towards others, 
than by making a remedy one's own by which so many 
sufferings could be assuaged, so many a danger averted? 
She had already secretly studied Welling's Opus mago- 
cabalistiaim^ but, because the author himself immediately 
obscures and quenches the light he imparts, she wished to 
find a friend to bear her company in this alternating light 
and darkness. It needed small effort to inoculate me also 
with this disease. I procured the work, which, like all 
writings of this kind, proclaimed its direct descent from the 
Neo-Platonic school. My first endeavour in connection 
with this book was to take accurate note of the dark hints by 
which the author refers from one passage to another, and 
promises to reveal in them what he conceals ; and to mark 
down on the margin the number of the page where such 
passages as should explain each other were to be found. 
But even after this the book still remained dark and unin- 
telligible; except that at last one became at home in a 
certain terminology, and, by using it according to one's 
own fancy, felt that one was at any rate saying, if not under- 
standing, something. The work makes very honourable 
mention of its predecessors, and we were incited to investi- 
gate these sources for ourselves. We turned to the works of 
Theophrastus Paracelsus and Basilius Valentinus ; as well as 

VOL. I. X 



306 POETRY AND TRUTH [part ii. book viii 

to those of Helmont, Starkey, and others, whose doctrines 
and directions, based more or less on nature and imagi- 
nation, we endeavoured to understand and follow out. I 
was particularly pleased with the Aurea Catena Homeric in 
which nature, though perhaps in fantastical fashion, is re- 
presented in a beautiful combination ; and thus sometimes 
by ourselves, sometimes together, we employed much time 
on these curiosities, and spent the evenings of a long winter, 
during which I was compelled to keep my chamber, very 
agreeably, since we three, my mother being included, found 
more pleasure in these mysteries than we could have done in 
their elucidation. 

In the meantime a very severe trial awaited me ; for a 
disturbed, and one might even say, in some respects, ruined 
digestion produced symptoms causing me to believe in 
great alarm that I should lose my life, and that none of the 
remedies applied would have any further effect. In this last 
extremity, my distressed mother constrained the embarrassed 
physician with the greatest vehemence to produce his 
universal medicine ; after long resistance, he hastened home 
at the dead of night, and returned with a little glass of dry 
crystallized salt, which was dissolved in water, and swallowed 
by the patient. It had a decidedly alkaline taste. The 
salt was scarcely taken than my condition appeared amelior- 
ated, and from that moment the disease took a turn which, 
by degrees, led to my recovery. I need not say how 
greatly this strengthened and enhanced our faith in our 
physician and our efforts to make ourselves partakers of 
such a treasure. 

My friend, who had neither parents nor brothers and 
sisters, and lived in a large, well-situated house, had before 
this taken steps to provide herself with a little air-furnace, 
alembics, and retorts of moderate size ; and, in accordance 
with the directions of Welling, and the express injunctions 
of our physician and master, made experiments principally 
on iron, in which the most healing powers were said to be 
concealed, if one only knew how to extract them ; and as 
the volatile salt which was to be employed figured largely 
in all the writings with which we were acquainted, alkalies 
were required in these operations. These alkalies, while 
evaporating in the air, were supposed to unite \yith those 



1768-70] CHEMICAL EXPERIMENTS 307 

super-terrestrial essences, and at last produce a mysterious 
and excellent neutral ssdtper se. 

Scarcely was I in some measure recovered, and, favoured 
by the change in the season, able once more to occupy my 
old gable- chamber, than I also set to work to provide my- 
self with a little apparatus. A small air-furnace with a 
sand-bath was prepared, and I very soon learned to change 
the glass retorts, with a piece of burning match-cord, into 
vessels in which the various mixtures were to be evaporated. 
Then the w^onderful ingredients of the macrocosm and 
microcosm were subjected to strange mysterious treatment, 
and above all I attempted to produce neutral salts in an 
unheard-of way. But what engaged me most, for a long 
time, was the so-called Liquor Silicuni (flint-juice), which is 
made by melting down pure quartz-flint with a proper 
proportion of alkali, whence results a transparent glass, 
which melts away on exposure to the air, and leaves a 
beautiful clear fluid. Whoever has once prepared this 
himself, and seen it with his own eyes, will not blame those 
who believe in a virgin earth, and in the possibility of pro- 
ducing further results from it and by it. I had acquired a 
peculiar dexterity in preparing this Liquor Silicum ; the fine 
white flints which are found in the Main furnished a perfect 
material for it ; and I lacked neither the other requisites, nor 
the needful diligence. But I grew weary at last, because I could 
not help noticing that the flinty substance was by no means 
so closely combined with the salt as I had imagined a priori^ 
for it was very easily separated again, and this most beau- 
tiful mineral fluid, which, to my great astonishment, some- 
times assumed the form of an animal jelly, always deposited 
a powder, which I was forced to pronounce the finest flint 
dust, but which gave not the slightest indication of anything 
productive in its nature, by which one might hope to see 
this virgin earth pass into the maternal state. 

Strange and unconnected as these operations were, I yet 
learned many things from them. I paid strict attention to 
all the crystallizations that might occur, and became 
acquainted with the external forms of many natural sub- 
stances, and inasmuch as I was aware that in modern times 
chemical subjects were treated with greater method, I wished 
to get a general conception of them, although, as a semi- 



308 POETRY AND TRUTH -[part ii. book viii 

adept, I had very little respect for the apothecaries and all 
those who experimented with common fire. However, the 
chemical Compendium of Boerhave attracted me extremely, 
and led me to read several of his writings, and these (as 
my long illness had besides inclined me to medical subjects) 
furnished me with an inducement to study also this excellent 
man's Aphorisms^ which I gladly stamped on my mind and 
memory. 

Another occupation, somewhat more human, and far 
more useful for my development at the moment, was 
reading through the letters which I had written home from 
Leipzig. Nothing throws greater light upon ourselves than 
to see before us what we produced some years before, so 
that we are able to regard ourselves from an objective 
point of view. Only, in truth, I was still too young, and the 
period represented by these papers still too near. Usually 
in our younger years it is difficult to cast aside a certain 
self-complacent conceit, and this especially shows itself in 
despising our own attainments in the recent past ; for 
when we recognize, as we advance step by step, that 
what we regard as good and excellent in ourselves and 
others will not stand the test of time, we think we can 
best extricate ourselves from this dilemma by ourselves 
rejecting what it is impossible to preserve. So it was with 
me also. For as in Leipzig I had gradually learned to set 
little value on my childish endeavours, so now my academical 
career seemed to me likewise of small account, and I did 
not realize that it had been of great value to me, just 
because by it I had risen to a higher stage of observation 
and insight. My father had carefully collected and sewed 
together my letters to him and to my sister ; nay, he had 
even corrected them carefully, and removed the mistakes 
both in spelling and style. 

What first struck me in these letters was their external 
form ; I was shocked at an incredible carelessness in the 
handwriting, which extended from October, 1765, to the 
middle of the following January. But, in the middle of 
March, all at once there appeared a concise, regular hand, 
such as I used to employ in writing for prize competitions. 
My astonishment changed into gratitude towards the good 
Gellert, when I remembered how, whenever we handed in 



1768-70] GOETHE'S LETTERS FROM LEIPZIG 3O9 

our essays to him, he used to represent to us, in his hearty 
voice, that it was our sacred duty to practise our hand- 
writing as much, nay, more than our §tyle. He repeated 
this as often as any scrawling, careless writing came under 
his notice ; on such occasions he often said that he would 
much like to make the good writing of his pupils the 
principal end of his instructions; the more so as he had 
often remarked that a good hand led the way to a good 
style. 

I noticed further that the French and English passages 
in my letters, although not free from blunders, were never- 
theless written with facility and freedom. I had also 
continued to practise these languages in my correspondence 
with Georg Schlosser, who was still at Treptow, and I had 
remained in constant communication with him, which had 
increased my knowledge on many practical matters (for 
things had not always turned out with him quite as he had 
hoped), and strengthened my confidence in his serious, 
noble way of thinking. 

Another consideration which could not escape me in 
reading through these letters, was that my good father, with 
the best intentions, had done me a special mischief, and 
had been the real cause of the odd way of life into which I 
had fallen at last. He had, namely, repeatedly warned me 
against card-playing ; but Frau Hofrat Bohme, as long as 
she lived, succeeded in keeping me to her way of thinking, 
by declaring that my father's warnings only had reference 
to the abuse of play. As I likewise saw the advantages 
of it in society, I allowed myself to be led by her. I had 
indeed the intelligence of a player, but not the spirit. I 
learned all games easily and rapidly, but I never could give 
the requisite attention for a whole evening. Therefore, 
after I had made a good beginning, I invariably failed at 
the end, and made myself and others lose; and in con- 
sequence I always either went to the supper-table or left 
the company out of humour. Scarcely was Madame Bohme 
dead, who, moreover, had not urged me to play during her 
long illness, than my father's admonition gained weight ; I 
excused myself in the first instance from the card-tables, 
and as they now did not know what else to do with me, I 
became a burden to others, and still more to myself, and 



3IO POETRY AND TRUTH [part ii. book viii 

declined the invitations, which then became less frequent, 
and at last ceased altogether. Play, which is much to be 
recommended to young people, especially those of a practical 
turn, who wish to find their way about the world, could 
never, indeed, have become a passion with me ; for I never 
made any progress, play as long as I would. Had anyone 
given me a general view of the subject, and shown me how 
certain signs and a greater or less amount of chance form a 
kind of basis for the exercise of intelligence and activity — 
had anyone explained several games to me at once, I might 
perhaps have become reconciled to them. Be this as it 
may, at the time of which I am now speaking, I had come 
to the conviction, from the above considerations, that one 
should not avoid social games, but should rather aim at a 
certain dexterity in them. Time is infinitely long, and each 
day is a vessel into which a great deal may be poured, if 
one is willing to fill it to the brim. 

Thus variously was I occupied in my solitude ; the more 
so, as the departed spirits of the different hobbies to which 
I had from time to time devoted myself, took the oppor- 
tunity of reappearing. So I took up my drawing again ; and 
as I always wished to work directly from nature, or rather 
from reality, I made a picture of my room, with its furniture, 
and the persons who were in it ; and when this ceased to 
amuse me, I illustrated all sorts of stories, that people told 
of what was going on in the town at the time, and which 
aroused their interest. These sketches were not without 
character and a certain taste, but unfortunately the figures 
lacked proportion and vigour, besides which the execution 
was extremely hazy. My father, who continued to take 
pleasure in such things, wished to have them more distinct ; 
everything had to be finished and properly completed. He 
therefore had them mounted and surrounded with ruled 
lines; nay, the painter Morgenstern, the family artist — the 
same who afterwards made himself known, and indeed 
famous, by his church-views — had to insert the lines of 
perspective in the rooms and chambers, and, it must be 
admitted, they contrasted somewhat harshly with the vaguely 
indicated figures. In this manner he thought to compel me 
to observe greater accuracy, and, to please him, I drew 
various objects of still life, and as the originals stood before 



1768-70] TASTE FOR DRAWING REVIVED 31I 

me as models, I could work with greater distinctness and 
precision. Finally my fancy for etching returned. I com- 
posed a tolerably interesting landscape, and felt very happy 
hunting up the old receipts given me by Stock, recalling 
those pleasant times as I worked. I soon etched the plate 
and had proofs taken. Unluckily the composition was 
without light and shade, and I now laboured to introduce 
both ; but as I did not see clearly what to aim at, I could 
not manage it satisfactorily. Up to this time I had been 
quite well, for me ; but now a malady attacked me which had 
never troubled me before. My throat, namely, had become 
very sore, and particularly what is called the uvula very 
much inflamed ; I could only swallow with great pain, and 
the physicians did not know what to make of it. They 
pestered me with gargling and painting, but could not 
relieve me of my misery. At last I had a sudden inspira- 
tion that I had not been careful enough in etching my 
plates, and that by my persistent absorption in the process, 
I had contracted this disease, and had constantly renewed 
and increased it. These explanations appeared plausible to 
the physicians, and proved correct when I gave up my 
etching, which I did the more readily as the attempt had by 
no means turned out well, and I had more reason to conceal 
than to exhibit my attempts ; so I consoled myself the more 
easily, as 1 very soon saw myself free from the troublesome 
disease. Upon this I could not refrain from the reflection 
that my similar occupations at Leipzig might have con- 
tributed to those diseases from which I had suflered so 
much. It is, indeed, a tedious, and withal a melancholy 
business to pay too much attention to ourselves, and to what 
is good and bad for us ; but there is no question that what 
with the wonderful idiosyncrasies of the human constitution 
on the one side, and the infinite variety of life and pleasure 
on the other, it is a wonder that the human race has not 
worn itself out long ago. The human frame appears to 
possess a peculiar kind of toughness and many-sidedness, 
since it gets the better of everything that approaches it, or 
that it absorbs, and, if it cannot assimilate it, at least renders 
it innocuous. In case of any great excess, it must, it is true, 
yield to the forces of nature in spite of all resistance, as the 
many endemic diseases and the efl*ects of brandy prove. 



312 POETRY ANP TRUTH [part n. book viii 

Could we, without becoming morbidly anxious, keep watch 
over ourselves to see what things have a beneficial or 
injurious effect upon us in our complicated civil and social 
life, and were we willing to renounce what causes us satis- 
faction at the time, for the sake of its evil consequences, we 
should then have an easy means of removing many an 
inconvenience which, with a constitution otherwise sound, 
often troubles us more than disease itself. Unfortunately, 
it is in dietetics as in morals ; we cannot recognize an error 
till we have got rid of it, so that we are no better off; for 
the next error is not like the preceding one, and therefore 
cannot be recognized under the same form. 

In reading through those letters which had been written 
from Leipzig to my sister, among other things, I could not 
help noticing that from the very beginning of my academical 
course I had esteemed myself very clever and wise, since, 
as soon as I had learned anything, I put myself in the place 
of the professor, and so became didactic on the spot. I 
was amused to see how I had immediately applied to my 
sister whatever Gellert had imparted or advised in his 
lectures, without seeing that both in life and in books, a 
thing may be proper for a young man without being suitable 
for a young lady ; and we both together made merry over 
my mimicry. The poems also which I had composed in 
Leipzig already appeared to me insignificant : they seemed 
cold, dry, and, in so far as they were intended to express 
the state of the human heart or mind, entirely super- 
ficial. This induced me, now that I was to leave my 
father's house once more, and go to a second university, 
again to decree a great auto-da-fe of my works. Several 
unfinished plays, some of which had reached the third or 
the fourth act, while others had only the opening scenes com- 
plete, together with many other poems, letters, and papers, 
were committed to the flames, and scarcely anything was 
spared except the manuscript by Behrisch, Die Laune des 
Verliebten and Die Mitschuldigen^ which last I continued to 
improve with particular affection, and, as the piece was 
already complete, I again revised the introductory scenes, 
to make them more stirring and intelligible. Lessing, in 
the first two acts of his Minna^ had given an inimitable 
model of the opening of a drama, and nothing was nearer 



1768-70] A SYSTEM OF THEOLOGY 313 

my heart than to thoroughly assimilate his thought and 
purpose. 

The account of whatever moved, excited, and occupied 
me at this time, is already full enough ; but I must never- 
theless revert once again to the interest aroused in me by 
supersensu©us things, of which I set about forming some 
conception, if it were possible, once for all. 

In this attempt I was greatly influenced by an important 
work that fell into my hands ; it was Arnold's History of the 
Church and Heretics. This man is not merely a reflective 
historian, but at the same time devout and sympathetic. His 
opinions accorded well with mine, and what particularly 
delighted me in his work was, that I acquired a more 
favourable idea of many heretics who had hitherto been 
represented to me as mad or impious. The spirit of con- 
tradiction and the love of paradoxes is inherent in all of us. 
I studied the diflferent opinions with diligence, and as I had 
often heard it said that in the end every man has a religion of 
his own, nothing seemed more natural to me than that I should 
fashion one for myself, and this I did with much satisfaction. 
Neo-Platonism formed the basis ; the hermetical, the mys- 
tical, the cabalistic, also contributed their share, and thus I 
constructed a world for myself that looked strange enough. 

I did not find it difficult to represent to myself a God- 
head which has gone on producing itself from all eternity ; 
but as production cannot be conceived without multiplicity, 
so it must of necessity have at once recognized itself as a 
Second, which we acknowledge under the name of the Son ; 
now these two must have continued the act of production, 
and again mirrored themselves in a Third, which was just 
as substantial, living, and eternal as the Whole. With these, 
however, the circle of the Godhead was complete, and it 
would not have been possible for them to produce another 
perfectly equal to them. But since the impulse to pro- 
duction still persisted, they created a fourth existence, which 
at the outset contained within itself a contradiction, inas- 
much as it was, like them, unlimited, and yet at the same 
time was to be contained in them and bounded by them. 
This was Lucifer, to whom the whole power of creation was 
committed from this time, and from whom all other beings 
were to proceed. He immediately displayed his infinite 



314 POETRY AND TRUTH [part ii. book vih 

activity by creating all the host of angels; all, again, 
after his own likeness, unlimited, but contained in him and 
bounded by him. Surrounded by such glory, he forgot his 
higher origin, and believed that he was self-sufficient, and 
from this first ingratitude sprang all that does not seem to 
us in accordance with the will and purposes of the Godhead. 
Now the more he centred his energies upon himself, the 
more miserable must he have become, as must also all 
the spirits whose elevation to their holy origin he had frus- 
trated. And so that came to pass which is typified to us 
by the Fall of the Angels. One part of them combined 
with Lucifer, the other turned again to its origin. In this 
combination of the whole creation, which had proceeded 
out of Lucifer, and was forced to follow him, originated all 
that we perceive under the form of matter, which we figure 
to ourselves as heavy, solid, and dark, but which, since it is 
descended^ if not immediately, yet by filiation, from the 
Divine Being, is just as unlimited, powerful, and eternal as 
its sire and his sires. Since then the whole mischief, if we 
may call it so, arose solely through the one-sided tendency 
of Lucifer, this creation lacked its nobler half; for it pos- 
sessed all that is gained by concentration, while it was 
wanting in all that can only be effected by expansion ; and 
so the whole creation might have destroyed itself by per- 
sistent concentration, have annihilated itself with its father 
Lucifer, and have lost all its claims to an equal eternity 
with the Godhead. This condition the Elohim contemplated 
for a time, and they had the choice, either of waiting for 
those aeons, in which the field would again have become 
clear, and space would be left them for a new creation, or 
of intervening in the existing state of things, and supplying 
the want in accordance with their own infinity. They chose 
the latter course, and by their mere will supplied in an in- 
stant the whole deficiency entailed by Lucifer's undertaking. 
They gave to infinite existence the faculty of expanding, of 
turning towards them; the true pulse of life was again re- 
stored, and Lucifer himself could not evade the effects of their 
intervention. This is the epoch when what we know as light 
appeared, and when what we are accustomed to designate 
by the word creation began. Greatly as this creation multi- 
plied by progressive degrees, through the continuous vital 



1768-70] A SYSTEM OF THEOLOGY 315 

power of the Elohim, nevertheless, a being able to restore thi 
original connection with the Godhead was still wanting ; an< 
so man was created, who was to be similar, yea, equal to 
the Godhead in all things; but thereby, in effect, found 
himself once more in the position of Lucifer, in being at the 
same time absolute and limited; and, since this contra- 
diction was to manifest itself in him through all the cate- 
gories of existence, and a perfect consciousness, as well as a 
decisive will, was to be an attribute of his state, it was to 
be foreseen that he must be at the same time the most 
perfect and the most imperfect, the most happy and the 
most unhappy creature. It was not long before he, too, 
played the part of Lucifer. Separation from the benefactor 
is ingratitude in essence, and thus a second act of defec- 
tion was perpetrated, although the whole creation is, and 
was, nothing but a falling away from and returning to its 
source. 

It is easy to see how in this scheme of things the 
Redemption was not only decreed from eternity, but was 
regarded as eternally necessary, nay, as requiring constant 
renewal throughout the whole period of creation and 
existence. Hence nothing is more natural than for the 
Deity himself to take the form of man, which had already 
been prepared as a vestment, and to share his fate for a 
short time, in order, by thus assuming his likeness, to 
enhance his joys and alleviate his sorrows. The history of 
all religions and philosophies teaches us that this great truth, 
indispensable for man, has been handed down by dififerent 
nations, in different times, in various ways, even in strange 
fables and images, in accordance with their limitations. 
Suffice it to acknowledge that we find ourselves in a con- 
dition which, even if it seems to drag us down and oppress 
us, yet gives us the opportunity, nay, makes it our duty, to 
raise ourselves, and to fulfil the purposes of the Godhead, 
by not omitting regular acts of self-renunciation alternating 
with the antithetical acts of necessary self-affirmation. 



NINTH BOOK 

" The heart is, moreover, often stirred in the direction of 
various virtues, especially of those of a social, delicate 
nature, and so the tenderer emotions spring and blossom in 
it. Many fine touches, in particular, will impress themselves 
on the young reader, giving him an insight into the more 
hidden recesses of the human heart and its passions — a 
knowledge of far greater worth than Greek and Latin, and 
which Ovid excels in teaching. But yet it is not on this 
account that the classic poets,- and with them Ovid, are 
placed in the hands of young students. We have received 
from a beneficent Creator a variety of intellectual powers, 
each of which should receive due culture in our earliest 
years, nor can this be given either by logic or metaphysics, 
Latin or Greek. We have an imagination which should not 
be allowed to seize any first-chance impressions, but rather 
be brought to contemplate fair and fitting images, so that 
the mind may learn by use and custom to recognize and 
love the beautiful everywhere and in nature itself, under 
its more obvious as well as its more subtle aspects. A 
number of general perceptions and universal truths are 
necessary as much in qur studies as in our daily life, which 
can be learned from no compendium. Our feelings, 
affections, and passions should be developed and purified 
to the best advantage." 

This significant passage, which is found in the Universal 
German Library y was not the only one of its kind. Similar 
principles and similar views came to the front in many 
directions. They made a very great impression on our 
eager young minds, and their effect was further strengthened 
by Wieland's example ; for the works of his second brilliant 
period clearly showed that he had formed himself on such 



I770] RENEWED HEALTH 317 

maxims. And what more could we desire? Philosophy, 
with its abstruse questions^ was set aside — the classics, the 
study of which is associated with so much drudgery, were 
thrust into the background — general text-books, on whose 
efficiency Hamlet had already breathed a word of doubt, 
were regarded with increasing suspicion. Our attention 
was directed to the life of varied activity, such as we 
loved to lead, and to the knowledge of the passions in 
our own hearts, actually felt in part, in part vaguely sus- 
pected. These, though formerly the object of reproof, now 
grew important and dignified in our eyes, because they were 
to be the chief object of our studies, and the knowledge of 
them was extolled as the best means of cultivating our 
mental powers. Besides, such an attitude was quite in 
accordance with my own convictions, and indeed with my 
methods of treating poetical subjects. It was therefore 
without opposition that, after thwarting so many good 
designs, and seeing so many fair hopes vanish, I reconciled 
myself to my father's intention of sending me to Strasburg, 
where I was promised a merry, cheerful life, and where I 
could prosecute my studies, and at last take my degree. 
y/ By the spring I felt restored to health, and still more to 
youthful spirits, and once more longed to be out of my 
father's house, this second time, however, for very different 
reasons. I had come to hate the charming rooms and 
pleasant scenes where I had suffered so much, and it was 
impossible to establish any friendly relations with my 
father. I could not quite forgive him for having shown an 
unjustifiable impatience at my relapses and at my tedious 
recovery ; for speaking with cruelty instead of comfort and 
forbearance, about that which lay in no man's hand, as if it 
were a mere matter of will-power. And he, too, felt hurt 
and offended by me in various ways. 

For young people return from the university with many 
general theories, which, indeed, is quite right and suitable ; 
but full of confidence in their own wisdom, they apply them 
as a standard to the events that occur, and these must often 
of necessity suffer in the test. I had, for example, gained a 
general notion of architecture, and of the arrangement and 
decoration of houses, and imprudently, in conversation, had 
applied this knowledge to our own house. My father had 



3l8 POETRY AND TRUTH [part ii. book ix 

designed the whole arrangement of it, and superintended the 
building of it with persevering zeal, and considering that it 
was to be merely a residence for himself and his family, 
no objection could be made to it ; besides, very many of the 
houses in Frankfort were built on the same plan. An open 
staircase ran up through the house, and on it opened several 
large ante-rooms, which might very well have been rooms 
in themselves, and, as a matter of fact, we always used them 
in the warm weather. But this way of living, pleasant and 
cheerful enough for a single family — this free communica- 
tion from the top to the bottom of the house — became of 
the greatest inconvenience as soon as different parties 
occupied the house, as we had experienced but too well 
when the French were quartered on us. For that painful 
scene with the king's lieutenant would not have happened, 
my father would even have been spared many such annoy- 
ances, if, after the Leipzig fashion, our staircase had run to 
one side of the house, and each storey had had its separate 
door. This style of building I once highly commended for 
its advantages, and showed my father the possibility of 
altering his staircase too ; whereupon he fell into an in- 
credible passion, all the more violent because I had just 
before found fault with some scrolled looking-glass frames, 
and condemned certain Chinese hangings. A scene 
ensued, which, though hushed up for the time being, 
hastened my journey to Alsace. My journey to this lovely 
district was quickly and comfortably carried out, thanks to 
the new and convenient institution of diligences. 

I alighted at the Inn Zum Geist (of the Holy Ghost), 
and then my eager desires prompted me to hurry to the 
minster, which my fellow-travellers had pointed out to me 
some time before, and which had long been visible. When 
I caught my first glimpse of this colossus through the narrow 
streets, and then found myself too close to it in the confined 
limits of the little square, it made upon me an absolutely 
unique impression. I could not analyze it at the moment, 
but bore it dimly with me as I hurried up the cathedral 
tower in order not to miss the opportunity, while the sun 
was still high and bright in the heavens, of at once enjoying 
the magnificent view of the rich, wide-spreading cmintry. 

And now, from the summit, I saw before me the 



I770] ARRIVAL AT STRASBURG 319 

beautiful country which was to be my home for some time ; 
the noble city, the wide meadows around it, thickly set with 
spreading trees, that striking richness of vegetation w^hich 
follows the windings of the Rhine, and marks its banks and its 
islands, large and small. Nor is the lowland, stretching from 
the south, and watered by the lUer, less rich in varied green. 
Even westward, towards the mountains, there is much low- 
lying ground, which affords quite as charming a view of 
wood and meadow- growth, whilst the northern and more 
hilly part is intersected by innumerable little brooks, which 
induce a rapid vegetation everywhere. Added to these 
luxuriant meadows, to this prodigal wealth of scattered 
groves, let the imagination picture green ripening tracts of 
highly cultivated arable land, where hamlets and farmsteads 
mark the most fertile spots, and all this vast^ immeasurable 
plain, prepared for man like a new paradise, bounded far 
and near by mountains partly cultivated, partly overgrown 
with woods ; it will then be possible to conceive the rapture 
with which I blessed the kind fate that had appointed me, 
for some time to come, so beautiful a dwelling-place. 

Such a fresh glance into a new land where we are to 
take up our abode for a time, has this peculiar feature, at 
once pleasant and awe-inspiring, that the whole lies before 
us like an unwritten tablet. As yet no sorrows and joys 
which relate to ourselves are recorded on it ; this bright, 
. varied, animated plain is still mute for us ; the eye is only 
fixed on such objects as are intrinsically important, and 
neither affection nor passion has given particular promi- 
nence to any one spot. But a presentiment of the future 
already troubles the young heart, and an unsatisfied craving 
secretly challenges whatever must or may be in store for us, 
and which, at all events, whether for good or ill, will im- 
perceptibly assume the character of the place in which we 
find ourselves. 

After my descent to the square, I still tarried awhile in 
front of the venerable pile; but what I could not quite 
clearly explain to myself, either on this or subsequent 
occasions, was that I looked upon this stone miracle as a 
monster, which would have struck terror into me, if its 
regularity had not made it possible to grasp the whole 
conception, whilst its finish gave pleasure to the eye. Yet I 



320 POETRY AND TRUTH [part ii. book ix 

did not trouble myself with meditating on this contradiction, 
but suffered this astonishing monument quietly to work upon 
me by its presence. 

I took small, but well-situated and pleasant lodgings, on 
the south side of the Fish Market, a fine long street, whose 
incessant life and bustle came to the relief of every idle 
moment. I then left my letters of introduction, and found 
among my patrons a merchant who, with his family, was a 
follower of that devout creed with which I was familiar, 
although, as far as the forms of worship were concerned, he 
had not separated from the Church. He was a man of 
intelligence, and entirely without cant. I found in the 
boarding-house, to which I had been recommended, and to 
which I also brought introductions, pleasant and entertaining 
company. A couple of old maids had long kept up this 
orderly and successful house ; we may have been about ten 
in all, both old and young. Of the latter, a man named 
Meyer, a native of Lindau, is most vividly present in my 
memory. His face and figure might have given him the 
right to be considered one of the handsomest of men, if, at 
the same time, there had not been something slovenly in 
his whole appearance. In like manner his splendid natural 
talents were spoilt by an incredible levity, and his excellent 
temper by unrestrained and dissolute habits. He had a 
frank and merry face, more round than oval ; the organs of 
the senses, eyes, nose, mouth, and ears, might be called 
exuberant ; they showed decided fulness, without being too 
large. The curling lips gave the mouth a particular charm, 
and a peculiar expression was given to his face by the fact 
that he was a Rdzel^ i,e, his eyebrows met above his nose, 
which, in a handsome face, always produces a pleasing expres- 
sion of sensuality. By his joviality, sincerity, and good-nature, 
he made himself beloved by all. His memory was incredible ; 
attention at the lectures cost him nothing ; he retained all 
that he heard, and was clever enough to take some interest 
in everything, and this the more easily, as he was studying 
medicine. His impressions were vivid and lasting, and his 
mimicry of lectures and professors often went so far, that, 
after three different lectures in one morning, he would, at 
the dinner-table, imitate the professors in turn, in succes- 
sive paragraphs, and often even more abruptly, which 



I770] DOCTOR SALZMANN 321 

parti-coloured lecture frequently amused us, but often, too, 
grew wearisome. 

The rest were more or less cultured, steady, serious 
people. A retired knight of the Order of St. Louis was of 
the number ; but the majority were students, all really good 
and with the best intentions, provided they did not go 
beyond their usual allowance of wine. To guard against 
this was the care of our president, one Doctor Salzmann. 
Already in the sixties and unmarried, he had dined at this 
table for many years, and maintained its good order and 
respectability. He was in easy circumstances, precise and 
neat in his dress, being one of those who always go about 
in shoes and stockings, and with their hat under their arm. 
To put on his hat was with him a most unusual occurrence. 
He commonly carried an umbrella, wisely reflecting that the 
finest summer days often bring thunderstorms or passing 
showers. 

With this man I talked over my plan of continuing the 
study of jurisprudence at Strasburg, so as to be able to take 
my degree as soon as possible. Taking advantage of the 
full information he commanded, I asked him about the 
lectures I should have to attend, and his general opinion. 
He replied, that Strasburg did not follow the rule of the 
German universities, where they tried to educate jurists in 
the widest and best sense of the word. Here, imder the 
influence of France, all was really directed to the practical 
side, and managed in accordance with the opinions of 
the French, who prefer to keep to the actual. They tried 
to impart to everyone certain general principles and pre- 
liminary knowledge, compressed as much as possible, and 
only gave the essential. Hereupon he made me acquainted 
with a man who had earned a great reputation as a Repetent* 
2l reputation which I very soon endorsed. By way of intro- 
duction, I began to speak with him on subjects of juris- 

• A Repetent is one of a class of persons to be found in the German 
universities, who assist students in their studies. They are some- 
what analogous to the English Tutors, but not precisely ; for the latter 
render their aid before the recitation, while the Repetent repeats with the 
student, in private, the lectures he has previously heard from the pro- 
fessor. Hence his name, which might be rendered Repeater^ had we any 
corresponding class of men in England or America, which would justify 
an English word. — American Note. 

VOL. I. . Y 



322 POETRY AND TRUTH [part ii. book ix 

prudence, and he wondered not a little at my boastful tone ; 
for during my residence in Leipzig, I had gone further in my 
preliminary law-studies than I have hitherto taken occasion to 
state in my narrative, though all I had acquired could only 
be reckoned as a general encyclopedic survey, rather than 
as genuine definite knowledge. University life, though in 
the course of it we may have no reason to boast of our own 
industry, affords, nevertheless, endless advantages in every 
branch of culture, because we are always surrounded by men 
who either have knowledge or are seeking it, so that we 
must be constantly drawing some nourishment from such an 
atmosphere, even if unconsciously. 

My instructor, after patiently enduring my rambling dis- 
course for some time, gave me at last to understand that I must 
first of all keep my immediate object in view, which was, to 
be examined, to take my degree, and then, in due course, to 
commence practice. " The examination," he said, "involves 
no very extensive knowledge of the subject. No questions are 
asked as to how and when a law arose, and what were the 
internal or external causes which gave rise to it ; you are 
not required to know how it has been altered by time and 
custom, or how far it has perhaps been misconstrued by false 
interpretation or by the perverted usage of the law-courts. 
There are learned men who specially devote their lives to 
such investigations ; but we only inquire after current usage, 
which we impress firmly on our memory, that it may always 
be ready when required for the use and defence of our 
clients. Thus we qualify our young people for their start 
in life, and the rest follows in accordance with their talents 
and activity." He then handed me his pamphlets, which were 
written in the form of question and answer, and in which I 
could have stood a creditable examination on the spot, for 
Hopp's smaller law-catechism was still perfectly clear in my 
memory ; other deficiencies my diligence soon supplied, and 
so against my will, yet in the easiest manner possible, I 
was prepared for my examination. 

By this method, however, all independent work in the 
study was precluded, — ^for I had no taste for positive know- 
ledge, but was anxious to have everything explained, if 
not rationally, at least historically. So I sought for my 
powers a wider field, employing them in the most singular 



I770] TASTE FOR MEDICAL STUDIES 323 

manner by devoting myself to an interest which accidentally 
came to me from without. 

Most of my fellow-boarders were medical students. 
These, as is well known, are the only students who eagerly 
talk over their studies and profession even out of work- 
ing hours. This lies in the very nature of the case. The 
objects that concern them are at once the most obvious 
to the senses, and the highest, the most simple, and the 
most complicated. Medicine employs the whole man, for 
it is in its turn concerned with the whole man. All that 
the young man learns bears directly upon an important, 
dangerous, but yet in many respects remunerative profession. 
He therefore devotes himself passionately to the pursuit of 
whatever is to be known and to be done, partly because it is 
interesting in itself, partly because it opens to him the joyous 
prospect of independence and wealth. 

So at table I heard nothing but medical conversations, 
just as I had done formerly in Hofrat Ludwig's boarding- 
house. In our walks and in our pleasure-parties, too, not 
much else was talked about ; for my fellow-boarders, good 
comrades as they were, had on other occasions become my 
companions, and their numbers were continually increased on 
all sides by men of like mind and like studies. The medical 
faculty in general outshone the others, both in the celebrity 
of its professors and the number of its students, and I 
was carried along all the more easily, because my knowledge 
on all these points was just sufficient to kindle and fan my 
desire for more. At the commencement of the second half- 
year, therefore, I attended a course on chemistry by Spiel- 
mann, another on anatomy by Lobstein, and proposed to 
support by vigorous industry that respect and confidence 
which my unusual preliminary, or rather superfluous know- 
ledge had already gained me in our society. 

Yet this dissipation and division of my energies was 
not enough, my studies were to be once more seriously 
disturbed ; for a remarkable political event stirred the whole 
town, and procured us a tolerably large succession of holi- 
days. Marie Antoinette, Archduchess of Austria and Queen 
of France, was to pass through Strasburg on her way to 
Paris. Busy and copious preparations were instantly made 
for all those ceremonies by which the nation must be 



324 POETRY AND TRUTH [part ii. book rx 

reminded that there are great ones in the world ; what espe- 
cially drew my attention was the building on an island in the 
Rhine between the two bridges, erected for her reception, 
and where she was to be surrendered into the hands of her 
husband's ambassadors. It was only slightly raised above 
the ground, had in the centre a large hall, and on each 
side smaller ones; then followed other rooms, extending 
further back. Had it been more durably built, it might 
have served very well as a pleasure-house for the wealthy. 
But what particularly interested me, so that I did not 
grudge many a Biisel (a little silver coin then current) 
to gain repeated admittance from the porter, was the em- 
broidered tapestry with which they had covered the whole 
interior. Here, for the first time, I saw a specimen of those 
tapestries worked after Raphael's cartoons, and this sight had 
a very decided influence on me, as it was my first acquaint- 
ance with the true and the perfect on a large scale, though 
only in copies. I came and went again and again, and 
could not gaze my fill ; but in truth a vain longing troubled 
me because I would fain have been able to understand what 
interested me in so extraordinary a degree. But while the 
side-rooms were a delight and a refreshment to my eyes, the 
central hall was an abomination to me. This had been 
hung with many larger, more brilliant and costly hangings, 
bordered with crowded ornamentation, and worked after 
modern French pictures. 

Now I might perhaps have reconciled myself to this 
style also, as my senses, like my judgment, were not quick to 
reject anything utterly; but the subject was excessively 
revolting to me. These pictures contained the history of 
Jason, Medea, and Creusa, an example, therefore, of the 
most unhappy marriage. To the left of the throne the 
bride was seen struggling in the most horrible death-throes, 
surrounded by spectators full of sympathizing woe ; to the 
right was the father, horrified at the murdered babes before 
his feet ; whilst in the air the Fury was driving past in her 
dragon-car. Yet a touch of the absurd was not wanting in 
this horrible and repulsive scene, for the white tail of the 
magic bull came out with a flourish on the right from behind 
the red velvet of the gold-embroidered back of the throne, 
while the fire-spitting beast himself, and Jason, who was 



I770] RECEPTION OF MARIE ANTOINETTE 325 

fighting with him, were completely covered by the sumptuous 
drapery. 

At this all the maxims which I had learnt in Oeser's 
school were stirred to conflict within me. It showed lack of 
proper judgment and discrimination to begin with, that 
Christ and the apostles should be introduced in the chamlDers 
of a nuptial building, and no doubt the royal tapestry- 
keeper had been guided by the size of the rooms. This, 
however, I willingly forgave, because it had turned out so 
much to my advantage ; but a blunder hke that in the 
great hall made me altogether beside myself with rage, 
and I called vehemently on my comrades to witness such a 
crime against taste and proper feeling. " What ! " I cried, 
utterly regardless of the bystanders, " how can people possibly 
be so thoughtless as to place before the eyes of a young 
queen, when she first sets foot in her dominions, a repre- 
sentation of perhaps the most horrible marriage that was ever 
consummated ! Is there not then among French architects, 
decorators, upholsterers, a single man who understands that 
pictures represent something, that pictures work upon the 
mind and feelings, that they create impressions, that they 
excite forebodings ! It is just as if they had sent the most 
ghastly spectre to meet this beautiful and pleasure-loving 
princess at the very frontier ! " I know not what else I 
said ; my comrades, however, did their best to pacify me and 
to remove me from the house, that no offence might be 
given. They then assured me that it was not everybody's 
wont to look for significance in pictures ; that they them- 
selves, at any rate, would not have dreamt of such a thing, 
while the whole population of Strasburg and the neighbour- 
hood which was to throng thither, would no more take such 
crotchets into their heads than the queen herself and her court 

I well remember the beauty and dignity of mien, as gay 
as it was lofty, of this youthful queen. Perfectly visible to 
us all in her glass carriage, she seemed to be jesting, in 
familiar conversation with the ladies of her suite, about tlie 
throng that poured forth to meet her train. In the evening 
we roamed through the streets to look at the various illumi- 
nations, but especially at the flowing spire of the minster, 
on which, both near and far, we could not sufficiently feast 
our eyes. 



326 POETRY AND TRUTH [part ii. book ix 

The queen pursued her way; the country people dis- 
persed, and the city returned to its former quiet. Before 
the queen's arrival, the very reasonable regulation had been 
made, that no deformed persons, no cripples nor repulsive 
sufferers, should show themselves along her route. People 
joked about this, and I made a little French poem in which 
I compared the advent of Christ, who seemed to walk this 
earth particularly on account of the sick and lame, with 
the arrival of the queen, who scared these unfortunates 
away. My friends accepted it without comment ; a French- 
man, on the contrary, who lived with us, criticized both 
language and metre very unmercifully, although, apparently 
with ample justice, and I do not remember that I ever again 
wrote a French poem. 

Scarcely had the news of the queen's happy arrival rung out 
from the capital, than it was followed by the most appalling 
news. Owing to an oversight of the police during the fire- 
works at the festivities, a large number of people, with horses 
and carriages, had perished in a street blocked with building 
materials, so that the city, in the very midst of the wedding- 
ceremonies, had been plunged into mourning and sorrow. 
They attempted to conceal the extent of the misfortune, 
both from the young royal pair and from the public, by 
burying the dead in secret, so that many families only learnt 
from the continued absence of their dear ones that they, 
too, had been swept away in this dreadful catastrophe. It 
will be easily inferred how forcibly this disaster brought 
up before me the great hall and its ghastly tapestries, for 
everyone knows how powerful certain moral impressions 
are, when they embody themselves, as it were, in those of 
the senses. 

/This occurrence was^ moreover, destined to plunge my own 
family and friends into anxiety and trouble because of a practi- 
cal joke in which I indulged. We students from Leipzig had 
never quite lost our love of mystifying and imposing on 
each other. So in a sheer spirit of mischief I wrote to a 
friend in Frankfort (the same who had amplified my poem 
on Hendel the pastry-cook^ applied it to Medon^ and put it 
into general circulation), a letter dated from Versailles, in 
which I informed him of my happy arrival there, my share 
in the festivities and so forth, enioining at the same time 



i77o] DISASTER AT PARTS 327 

the strictest secrecy. I must here mention that, since the 
practical joke which had caused us so much trouble, our little 
Leipzig community had fallen into the habit of tormenting 
him from time to time with all kinds of impostures, especi- 
ally as he was the most humorous fellow in the world, and 
never more amiable than when he discovered the trap into 
which he had been deliberately led. Soon after I had 
written this letter, I took a short journey which kept me 
absent about a fortnight. Meanwhile the news of that 
disaster had reached Frankfort; my friend believed me 
in Paris, and his affection easily led him to fear that I might 
have been involved in the calamity. He inquired of ray 
parents and other persons with whom I was accustomed to 
correspond, whether any letters had arrived, and as it was 
just at the time when my journey kept me from writing, 
none had been received anywhere. He went about in the 
greatest anxiety, and at last confided the matter to our 
nearest friends, who now shaifed his disquiet. Fortunately 
this conjecture did not reach my parents until a letter had 
arrived, announcing my return to Strasburg. My young 
friends were delighted to hear I was alive, but remained 
firmly convinced that I had been at Paris in the interim. 
I was so touched by the account of the solicitude they had 
felt on my behalf that I vowed to discontinue such tricks for 
ever, but, unfortunately, I have often since then been guilty 
of similar jests. Real life frequently becomes so dull that 
one is often forced to try to restore its polish by the varnish 
of fiction. 

Thus the mighty stream of courtly splendour had flowed 
past, leaving in me no other craving than that for Raphael's 
tapestries, which I would fain have contemplated daily 
and hourly in reverent adoration. Fortunately, my eager 
endeavours succeeded in interesting several persons in 
authority, so that these tapestries were taken down and 
packed up as late as possible. We now gave ourselves up 
again to the quiet, easy routine of our academic and social 
life ; in the latter Salzmann, the registrar, president of our 
table, was still the general philosopher and guide. The good 
sense, ease, and dignity, which he always contrived to main- 
tain amid all the jests, and often even little transgressions 
which he allowed us, won him the love and respect of the 



328 POETRY AND TRUTH [part ii. book ix 

• 
whole company, and the occasions on which he showed his 
serious displeasure, or interposed his authority in our little 
quarrels and disputes were very rare. Yet among them all 
I was the one who grew most attached to him, and he liked 
to talk with me all the more because he found my accomplish- 
ments more varied and my judgment not so one-sided as 
was the case with the others. I also followed his directions 
in my outward behaviour, so that he felt no embarrass- 
ment in publicly acknowledging me as his companion and 
comrade ; for althoi^h the office he filled was not apparently 
influential, yet he administered it in a manner which re- 
dounded to his highest honour. He was registrar to the 
Court of Wards (Pupillen^Collegium)^ where, like the per- 
manent secretary of a university, he had the management of 
affairs practically in his own hands. He had devoted his 
whole energies to these duties for many years, so that there 
was scarcely a family, rich or poor, which did not owe him 
gratitude : for surely there is hardly an official in the 
whole government administration who can earn more bless- 
ings or more curses than one who is the protector of 
orphans, or who by dishonesty or negligence squanders their 
possessions. 

The Strasburgers love to walk abroad, and with good 
reason. At every step you find pleasure-grounds, partly 
natural, partly laid out by the skilful art of ancient and modern 
times, all of them frequented and enjoyed by cheerful, merry 
crowds. But what distinguished the throng of promenaders 
in this town from those elsewhere was the varied costume of 
the fair sex. The town girls of the middle class still retained 
the fashion of wearing their hair in coils, secured by a large 
pin ; as well as a certain neat style of dress, in which any- 
thing like a train would have been unbecoming ; and the 
pleasant part of it was, that this costume did not sharply 
differentiate the various classes ; for there were still some 
wealthy and distinguished families who would not permit 
their daughters to dress in any other style. The rest 
followed the French fashions, and this party made prose- 
lytes every year. Salzmann had many acquaintances, and 
found admission everywhere ; a very pleasant circumstance 
for his companion, especially in summer, when good com- 
pany and entertainment were to be had in all the public 



I770] STRASBURG MANNERS 329 

gardens far and near, so that he received many an invitation 
for one pleasant outing or another. One such occasion 
gave me the opportunity of rapidly advancing my acquaint- 
ance with a family which I was visiting only for the second 
time. We were invited, and arrived at the hour appointed. 
The company was not a large one ; as usual, some played 
games, while others walked. Later, at supper-time, I saw 
our hostess and her sister talking excitedly together, as if 
in some special difficulty. I accosted them and said : " I 
have indeed no right, ladies, to force myself into your 
secrets ; but perhaps I may be able to give you good advice, 
or even to be of service to you." They then explained to 
me their painful dilemma : they had invited twelve persons 
to supper, and just at that moment a relative had returned 
from a journey ; he would now make the thirteenth, which 
would be a fatal memento mori, if not to himself, yet certainly 
to some of the guests. "The case is easily mended," I 
replied ; " you will allow me to take my leave, and reserve 
my claim to indemnification." Their good manners and fine 
feelings would not allow this, and they accordingly sent 
round the neighbourhood to find a fourteenth. I waited till 
I saw the servant coming in at the garden-gate to report the 
failure of his errand, then stole away and spent a pleasant 
evening under the old Ume-trees of the Wanzenau. It was 
only natural that I should be richly compensated for such 
self-denial. 

Card-playing is an essential feature of some kinds of 
social life. Salzmann renewed Madame Bohme's useful 
instructions, and I was eager to learn, being now aware that 
this little sacrifice, if indeed it be one, is the key to much 
pleasure, and even to a greater freedom in society than one 
would otherwise enj oy . The old-fashioned piquet was revived : 
I learned whist ; following my Mentor's directions, I set apart 
a card-purse, which was to remain untouched under all 
circumstances, and was thus able to spend most of my 
evenings with my friend in the best circles, where I was, for 
the most part, well received, and where they pardoned many . 
a little irregularity, which my friend, however, never failed 
to point out to me in the kindliest manner. 

By a symbolic experience I now learned how much 
a man must adapt himself to society, even in the matter 



330 POETRY AND TRUTH [part ii. book ix 

of appearance, and follow its directions, for I was com- 
pelled to submit to the fashion on a point which was most 
disagreeable to me. I had really very fine hair, but my 
Strasburg hair-dresser at once assured me that it was cut 
much too short behind, and that it would be impossible to 
make it presentable, since nothing but a few short curls in 
front were decreed lawful, and all the rest of the hair, from 
the crown, must be tied up in a queue or hair-bag. 
Nothing was left for it but to put up with false hair till the 
natural growth was again restored according to the demands 
of the time. He promised me that nobody should ever 
notice this innocent deception (to which I objected at first 
very seriously), if I would make up my mind to it at once. 
He kept his word, and I was always looked upon as the 
young man with the best and best-dressed head of hair. 
But as this obliged me to keep my hair dressed and 
powdered from early morning, and at the same time to take 
care not to betray my false ornament by heating or over- 
exerting myself, this restraint contributed much to inducing 
in me a more quiet and polite demeanour, and accustomed 
me to going about with my hat under my arm, and conse- 
quently in pumps and knee-breeches also ; however, I did 
not venture to neglect wearing understockings of thin 
leather, as a defence against the Rhine gnats, which, on the 
fine summer evenings, generally infest meadows and gardens. 
Physical activity being thus interdicted, our social conversa- 
tions certainly gained in warmth and animation; indeed, 
they were the most interesting I had ever had. 

With my way of feeling and thinking, it cost me nothing 
to let everyone pass for what he was, or indeed for what 
he pretended to be. This fresh and youthful frankness of 
disposition, now^first fully revealed, made me many friends 
and followers. The number of our boarders increased to 
about twenty, and as Salzmann kept up his accustomed 
discipline, everything continued in the old way ; if anything, 
the conversation was more decorous, as everyone had to 
be on his guard before so large a number. Among the 
new-comers was a man who particularly interested me ; his 
name was Jung, the same who afterwards became known 
under the name of Stilling. Ih spite of his old-fashioned 
dress, his figure, though sturdy, was not ungraceful. A 



I770] JUNG STILLING 331 

bag-wig did not disfigure a speaking and attractive counten- 
ance. His voice was gentle, yet neither soft nor weak ; 
it even acquired tone and power as soon as he grew excited, 
which he did on slight provocation. On better acquaintance 
he showed a sound common-sense, founded on natural 
disposition, and therefore open to the influence of affections 
and passions, and from this same disposition sprang the 
purest enthusiasm for all that was good, true, and just. 
For the course of this man's life had been simple, though 
crowded with events and with manifold activities. The vital 
force of his energy was an indestructible faith in God, and in 
His personal help, clearly manifested in an uninterrupted 
providence, and in an unfailing deliverance out of all ills and 
troubles. Jung had proved this many times in his life by 
experience, and repeatedly of late in Strasburg, so that, with 
perfect cheerfulness, he led a life frugal indeed, but free 
from care; and devoted himself earnestly to his studies, 
although he could not reckon upon any certain means of 
livelihood from one term to another. In his youth, when 
on a fair way to become a charcoal burner, he took up the 
trade of a tailor ; at the same time, he persisted in educating 
himself, till his thirst for knowledge drove him to the 
occupation of schoolmaster. This attempt failed, and he 
returned to his trade, but, as he enjoyed universal confi- 
dence and affection, he was repeatedly called away to 
resume his post of private tutor. The training of his inner- 
most individuality, however, he owed to that widespread 
class of men who tried to work out their own salvation, 
and, by reading the Scriptures and edifying works^ by 
mutual exhortation and confession, attained an admirable 
degree of culture. For the interests which they always 
cultivated and which were the bond of, their fellowship, 
rested on the simplest foundations of morality, good will, 
and beneficence, and as the irregularities possible to men 
in such limited circumstances were so slight that their 
consciences, for the most part, remained clear, and their 
minds at ease, the culture that ensued was consequently 
not artificial, but absolutely natural, and had this advantage, 
that it was suitable to all ages and to all classes, and of 
necessity of a social nature. For the same reason the 
members of this sect were, in their own circle, truly eloquent, 



332 POETRY AND TRUTH [part ii. book ix 

and capable of expressing themselves appropriately and 
pleasingly on all matters of the affections, however delicate 
or passionate. Such was the case with Jung. Among a few 
who, if not exactly like-minded with himself, did not declare 
themselves averse to his mode of thought, he would be not 
only talkative but eloquent ; in particular, he would tell the 
story of his life in the most delightful manner, making all 
the circumstances vividly present to his listeners' imagina- 
tion. I persuaded him to write them down, and he promised 
he would. But in his conversation he was like a somnam- 
bulist, whom one dare not call, lest he should fall, or like a 
gentle stream, to which one dare offer no resistance, lest it 
should foam, and this often made him feel ill at ease in a 
more numerous company. His faith tolerated no doubt, his 
conviction no jesting. And though inexhaustible in friendly 
converse, the slightest contradiction acted as an immediate 
check. I usually helped him out on such occasions, and he 
repaid me with honest affection. His way of thinking was 
by no means strange to me ; on the contrary, I had already 
become quite familiar with it in my best friends of both 
sexes, and it interested me besides, because of its simplicity 
and unaffectedness, so it was natural he should be on the 
very best of terms with me. I liked the bent of his intellect, 
and I left unmolested that faith in miracles, which was so 
useful to him. Salzmann, too, treated him with forbear- 
ance, — I say with forbearance, for Salzmann, considering 
his character, his natural disposition, his age and circum- 
stances, could not but hold with the rational, or rather 
common-sense Christians, whose religion was really based 
on uprightness of character, and a manly independence, and 
who therefore were inclined to shun those emotions which 
might easily lead to gloom, and the mysticism, which might 
bring them into darkness. This class, too, was respectable 
and numerous; honourable and capable men who under- 
stood each other, and shared the same convictions, as well 
as the same mode of life. 

Lerse, another of our fellow-boarders, also belonged to this 
section ; a perfectly upright youth, who used his limited means 
sparingly and wisely. He was more economical in his way 
of living and in his housekeeping than any student I have 
ever known. He dressed more neatly than any of us, yet 



I770] LERSE 333 

always appeared in the same clothes ; but he managed his 
wardrobe with the greatest care, kept everything about 
him spotless, and demanded that everything else in ordinary 
life be the same. He never leaned against anything, or 
propped his elbows on the table ; he never forgot to mark his 
table-napkin, and the maid always got into trouble when the 
diairs were not perfectly clean. Yet with all this, his manner 
was not stiff. He spoke cordially, with decision and re- 
strained animation and a light jesting irony which became 
him well. In figure he was well built, slender, and of medium 
height, his face plain and pitted with small- pox, his small blue 
eyes bright and penetrating. As he had so often occasion to 
tutor us, we let him be our fencing-master too ; for he used 
the rapier well, and it seemed to amuse him, at such times, 
to practise on us all the pedantry of the profession. But 
we really learned much from him, and had to thank him for 
many sociable hours, which he induced us to spend in healthy 
exercise. 

By all these qualities, Lerse was well fitted for the office 
of arbitrator and umpire in all the quarrels, great and small, 
which occurred^ though rarely, in our circle, and which 
Salzmann had not been able to hush up in his fatherly way. 
Free from those external forms which do so much mischief 
in universities, we formed a society bound together by cir- 
cumstances and good feeling, and, though others might occa- 
sionally come into touch with it, none could ever intrude. 
Now, in settling internal disputes^ Lerse always showed the 
strictest impartiality, and when the affair had got beyond the 
reach of words and explanations, he knew how to manage so 
that all parties might obtain honourable yet harmless satisfac- 
tion. In this respect his cleverness was unrivalled ; indeed, 
he often used to say, that since heaven had not destined him 
for a hero either in war or in love, he would be content, both 
in fighting and in romance, with the part of a second. Always 
true to himself, a very model of a good and steadfast dis- 
position, his personality stamped itself deeply and agreeably 
on my mind, so that when I wrote Gotz von Berlichingen, I 
felt impelled to set up a memorial of our friendship, giving to 
that sterling character, who knew how to subordinate himself 
with so much dignity, the name of Franz Lerse. 

But while his constant humorous dryness continued to 



334 POETRY AND TRUTH [part it. book ix 

remind us of what we owed to ourselves and to others, and 
how we should behave in order to live at peace with men as 
long as possible, and stand, as it were, upon our guard towards 
them, I had to fight, inwardly and outwardly, with quite 
different circumstances and adversaries, being at strife with 
myself, with the objects around me, and even with the 
elements. My state of health was now such as to second 
me entirely in any duty or undertaking ; only there was a 
certain irritability left behind, which easily disturbed my 
equanimity. A loud sound was disagreeable to me, diseased 
objects awakened in me loathing and horror. But I was 
especially troubled by a giddiness which came over me every 
time I looked down from a height I tried to remedy all 
these infirmities, and, wishing to lose no time, I adopted 
somewhat violent methods. In the evening, when they beat 
the tattoo, I went close to the host of drums, whose power- 
ful roll and boom made the heart in one's breast throb to 
bursting. Alone I climbed the highest pinnacle of the minster 
spire, and sat in what is called the neck, under the nob or 
crown, for a quarter of an hour, before I would venture to 
step out again into the open air, where, standing upon a plat- 
form scarce an ell square, affording no particular hold, I 
could see the boundless prospect in front of me, while the 
near objects and ornaments concealed the church and 
everything below me on which I was standing. It was 
exactly like being carried up into the air in a balloon. I 
repeated these dreaded and painful sensations until I was 
quite indifferent to them, and I have since derived great 
advantage from this training, in mountain travels, geological 
studies, and on high buildings, where I have vied with the 
carpenters in running on the bare beams and the cornices of 
the edifice, and in Rome itself, where similar risks must be 
run to obtain a nearer view of important works of art 
Anatomy, also, was of twofold value to me, as it taught me 
to tolerate the most repulsive sights, while satisfying my 
thirst for knowledge. So I attended both the clinical course 
held by the elder Doctor Ehrmann, and his son's lectures on 
obstetrics, with the double view of understanding all physical 
states, and of freeing myself from any apprehension of 
repulsive sights. And I actually succeeded so well, that 
nothing of this kind ever made me lose my self-possession. 



I770] SUBJUGATION OF NATURAL ANTIPATHIES 335 

But I sought to steel myself not only against such impres- 
sions on the senses, but also against troubles of the 
imagination. The awful and shuddering sensations pro- 
duced by the gloom of churchyards, solitary places, churches 
and chapels by night, and kindred terrors, left me in 
time equally unmoved, so much so that day and night and 
all places were entirely alike to me ; in fact when, in later 
years, I should have liked to revive in such scenes 
the delightful tremors of youth, I have found it almost 
impossible, though I have conjured up the weirdest and most 
terrifying images. 

My efforts to free myself from the oppression of such 
unduly solemn and awe-inspiring emotions, which continued 
to sway me, and seemed to me now a strength, now a 
weakness, found great assistance in that open, social, stirring 
life, which attracted me more and more, to which I accus- 
tomed myself, and which I at last learned to enjoy with 
perfect freedom. It is a matter of common proof that a 
man feels himself most perfectly rid of his own failings when 
he is contemplating the faults of others, and expatiating on 
them with complacent censoriousness. It is a sufficiently 
pleasant sensation to look down upon our equals with 
disapproval and censure, and that is why good society, 
whether it consists of few or many, takes great delight in it. 
But nothing equals the comfortable self-complacency of 
erecting ourselves into judges of our superiors, and of those 
set in authority over us, — of princes and statesmen, of con- 
demning public institutions as ill-planned and useless, only 
considering possible and actual defects, and ignoring both 
the greatness of intention and that co-operation of time and 
circumstances which is necessary to the fulfilment of every 
great undertaking. 

Whoever remembers the then condition of the French 
kingdom, and has made an accurate and detailed study of 
it from later writings, can easily imagine how, at that time, 
in semi-French Alsace, people used to talk about the King 
and his ministers, about the court and court-favourites. 
This subject opened a new field to my thirst for information, 
and was very welcome to my pertness and youthful conceit. 
I made careful observations and copious notes, and the few 
fragments that remain still go to prove that information of 



33^ POETRY AND TRUTH [part ii. book ix 

that kind, although collected only on the spur of the moment, 
from unfounded gossip and vague general rumour, still 
retains a certain value in after-times : by means of it we 
can compare what has since been revealed with what was 
already discovered and publicly known at the time, and the 
judgments of contemporaries, whether true or false, with the 
conclusions of posterity. 

We who lounged about the streets had ample oppor- 
tunity for studying the projects for beautifying the city ; for 
these were being converted with astonishing rapidity from 
mere draughts and plans into reality. Intendant Gayot had 
undertaken to remodel Strasburg*s angular, irregular streets, 
and to lay the foundations of a respectable, handsome city, 
drawn out by rule and measure. Thereupon, Blondel, a 
Parisian architect, made a plan, by which one hundred and 
forty householders gained in room, eighty lost, and the 
rest remained in their former condition. This plan, which 
had been accepted, though not for instant execution, should 
now have been gradually approaching completion, and, 
meanwhile, the town presented an odd mixture of form and 
formlessness. If, for instance, a crooked street was to be 
straightened, the first man who felt disposed to build moved 
forward to the appointed line ; perhaps his next-door neigh- 
bour did the same, or possibly the owner of the third or 
fourth house from him, so that these projecting buildings 
left awkward recesses, like front court-yards, before the older 
houses in the background. They did not wish to use force, 
yet without compulsion it was impossible to get on; so 
no man, when his house was once condemned, was allowed 
to improve or renovate anything so long as it affected the 
street. All these strange temporary disfigurements gave 
us, as we idly roamed the streets, the most welcome oppor- 
tunity for ridicule; we made proposals, after the style of 
Behrisch, for accelerating the work, and continually cast 
doubts -on the possibility of its completion, although many 
a newly-erected handsome building should have led us to 
alter our views. How far that project advanced in course 
of time, I cannot say. 

Another favourite topic with the Protestant Strasburgers 
was the expulsion of the Jesuits. These fathers, as soon as 
the town had fallen to the French, had made their appearance 



I770] EXPULSION OF THE JESUITS 337 

and taken up their residence there. They soon increased 
in numbers and built a magnificent college, which bordered 
so closely on the cathedral that the back of the church 
hides a third of the front of their edifice. It was to be a 
complete quadrangle, and have a garden in the middle; 
three sides of it were finished. It is in solid stone, like all 
Jesuit buildings. It lay, no doubt, in this society's plans to 
press hard upon the Protestants, if not actually to oppress 
them, for they made it their paramount duty to restore the 
old religion in its entirety. Their fall, therefore, awakened 
the greatest satisfaction in their opponents, who were 
not at all displeased to see them sell their wines and 
remove their books, and the building assigned to another, 
possibly less active order. How glad men are to get rid of 
an opponent, or merely of a guardian ! and the flock does 
not reflect that by losing their watch-dog they are exposed 
to wolves. 

Now, since every city must have its tragedy, at which 
children and children's children shudder, so in Strasburg 
frequent mention was made of the unfortunate Praetor Kling- 
ling, who, after he had mounted the highest rung of earthly 
felicity, ruled city and country with almost absolute power, 
and enjoyed all that wealth, rank, and influence could afford, 
had at last lost the favour of the court, and was called to 
account for all transgressions hitherto overlooked ; and was 
even thrown into prison, where, an old man over seventy, 
he died a doubtful death. 

Our fellow-boarder, the knight of the Order of St Louis, 
knew how to tell this and similar tales with much passion 
and animation, so that I was fond of accompanying him in 
his walks, whilst the others avoided such invitations, and 
left me alone with him. As it was my habit with new 
acquaintances to let myself drift for a long time without 
thinking much about them or the effect which they were 
exercising on me, so it was only gradually that I began to 
notice that his stories and opinions rather unsettled and 
confused, than instructed or enlightened me. I never 
knew what to make of him, although the riddle might easily 
have been solved. He belonged to the many to whom life 
brings no results, and who therefore, from first to last, spend 
themselves on details. Added to this, unfortunately he had 
VOL. I. z 



338 POETRY AND TRUTH [part ir. book ix 

a decided fondness, nay, even passion, for meditation, with- 
out any real capacity for thought ; such men easily lay 
hold of one idea till it becomes almost a mental disease. 
He was for ever recurring to this fixed idea, and was thus 
in the long nm excessively boring. He used bitterly to 
complain of his failing memory, especially with regard to 
the most recent events, and maintained by a logic of his 
own, that all virtue springs from a good memory, and all 
vice, on the contrary, from forgetfulness. He maintained 
this theory with much ingenuity, for anything can be main- 
tained when you permit yourself to use words quite vaguely, 
now in a wider, now in a narrower sense, and to vary them 
now by a closer, now by a more remote application. 

At first it was amusing to hear him ; his persuasiveness 
even astonished us. It was like, listening to a rhetorical 
sophist, who in jest will keep himself in practice by putting 
a fair face on the strangest subjects. Unfortunately this 
first impression soon died away; for at the end of every 
conversation, try as I would, he came back again to the 
same theme. Past history could not hold him, though it 
interested him, and though he knew tt thoroughly in minutest 
detail. Indeed, a trifling circumstance would snatch him 
from the midst of an important historical narrative and 
thrust him back into his detestable favourite topic. 

One of our afternoon walks was particularly unfortunate 
in this respect; the account of it may be given here as 
typical of similar cases, which might weary, if not actually 
annoy, our readers. 

On the way through the city we were met by an old 
beggar-woman, whose importunities disturbed him in his 
story. " Be off, you old witch ! " said he, and passed on. 
She shouted after him the well-known retort, but slightly 
modified, since she could see that the gruff fellow was old 
himself, — " If you did not wish to be old, you should have 
had yourself hanged in your youth ! " He turned sharply 
round, and I feared a scene. " Hanged ! " he cried, " have 
myself hanged ! No, that could not have been ; I was too 
honest a fellow for that ; but it is quite true I should have 
hanged myself — quite true; I should have blown my own 
brains out, that I might not live to see the day when I am 
not even worth powder and shot/' The woman stood 



I770] THE KNIGHT OF ST. LOUIS 339 

as if petrified ; but he continued, " You have said a true 
word, mother-witch ! and as they have neither drowned nor 
burned you yet, you shall be paid for your proverb." He 
handed her a Bilsel^ a coin not often given to a beggar. 

We had crossed the first bridge over the Rhine, and 
were walking in the direction of the inn we meant to visit, 
and I was trying to bring him back to our previous conver- 
sation, when, unexpectedly, a very pretty girl met us on the 
footpath, stopped in front of us, bowed graciously and 
cried : " Well, captain, where are you going ? " and more of 
a like nature. " Mademoiselle," he replied, somewhat em- 
barrassed, " I do not know " " What ! " she exclaimed, 

with charming astonishment, " do you forget your friends so 
soon ? " The word " forget " annoyed him ; he shook his 
head and replied, peevishly enough, " Indeed, mademoiselle, 

I have not the honour " She now retorted with some 

vexation, yet very good-humouredly : " Take care, captain, 
I may fail to recognize you another time ! " And so she 
hurried on, walking fast, and not looking round. Suddenly 
my companion struck himself on the forehead with clenched 
fists : " O what an ass I am ! " he exclaimed, " what a perfect 
ass ! Now, you see whether I am right or not." And then 
began violently to hold forth on the usual topic, still more 
confirmed in his views by the recent occurrence. I cannot 
and would not repeat the philippic he delivered against 
himself. At last he turned to me and said : " I call you lo 
witness ! You remember that saleswoman at the corner, 
who is neither young nor pretty? I greet her every time 
we pass, and often exchange a friendly word or two with 
her ; and yet it is thirty years since she first favoured me. 
But now 1 swear it is hardly four weeks since this young 
lady was almost unreasonably gracious to me, and yet I will 
not recognize her, but insult her in return for her favours I 
Do I not always say that ingratitude is the greatest of vices, 
and no man would be ungrateful if he were not forgetful ! " 

We went into the inn, where the boisterous, convivial 
crow^d in the entrance-halls stopped for a moment the in- 
vectives which he was pouring out against himself and his 
contemporaries. He was silent, and I hoped pacified, by the 
time we stepped into an upstairs-room : here we found a 
young man pacing up and down alone, whom the captain 



340 POETRY AND TRUTH [part ii. book ix 

saluted by name. I was pleased to make his acquaintance ; 
for my old friend had often spoken well of him, and told 
me that this young man, employed in the war-office, had 
often disinterestedly done him many a good turn when 
pensions had not been paid. I was glad that the conver- 
sation took a general turn, and we drank a bottle as w^e 
talked. But here, unluckily, another infirmity which my 
knight had in common with all obstinate men, came to light. 
For just as, in general, he could not get rid of his fixed idea, 
so h£ loved to cling to the disagreeable impression of the 
moment, allowing his feelings to run on without restraint. 
His recent anger against himself had not yet died away, 
when it was increased by a new annoyance, although of 
quite a different nature. As he looked round the room he 
soon noticed on the table coffee for two and two cups, and 
may besides, being a ladies' man, have traced other indica- 
tions that the young man had not been quite so solitary the 
whole time. Immediately the conjecture arose in his mind, 
and ripened into probability, that the pretty girl had been 
paying a visit here, upon which the most outrageous 
jealousy added itself to his original vexation^ and completed 
his discomfiture. 

Now before I could suspect anything, for till then I had 
been talking quite innocently with the young man, the 
captain, in an unpleasant tone, with which I was familiar, 
began to make sarcastic references to the pair of cups, and 
other things besides. His young friend, though conscience- 
stricken, showed his good sense and good breeding by trying 
to turn it off pleasantly ; the older man, however, continued 
to be unmercifully rude, so that there was nothing left for 
the other but to seize his hat and cane, and to leave behind 
him as he quitted us a pretty unequivocal challenge. The 
captain's fury now burst out all the more vehemently, as he 
had in the interim drunk another bottle of wine almost by 
himself. He struck the table with his fist, and shouted 
more than once : " I'll strike him dead ! " It was not, how- 
ever, meant quite so badly as it sounded, for he often used 
this phrase when anyone opposed or otherwise displeased 
him. Just as unexpectedly matters got worse on our way 
back : for I had the want of foresight to represent to him 
his ingratitude towards the young man, and to remind him 



I770] THE KNIGHT OF ST. LOUIS 34 1 

how strongly I had heard him praise the ready kindness of 
this obliging official. No ! never have I seen a man so 
angry with himself; it was a passionate sequel to the same 
theme opened by our adventure with the pretty girl. I saw 
sorrow and repentance exaggerated into caricature, and in so 
far as all passion may be a substitute for genius, it was in its 
way an exhibition of genius. He then went over all the 
incidents of our afternoon ramble, made rhetorical use of 
them in self-reproach, brought up the old witch finally once 
nK)re, and reduced himself to such a state, that I was almost 
afraid he would throw himself into the Rhine. Could I 
have been sure of fishing him out again quickly, as Mentor 
did Telemachus, I might have let him leap, and then should 
have brought him home with his brains cooled for once. 

Lerse, to whom I immediately told the story, went with 
me next morning to the young man and succeeded in 
making him laugh 'by his dry wit. We agreed to bring 
about an accidental meeting, when a reconciliation would 
be sure to take place of itself. The drollest thing about it 
was, that by this time the captain too had slept off his 
rudeness, and was ready to apologize to the young man, 
who in his turn had small liking for quarrelling. All was 
arranged in the course of the morning, and, as the affair had 
not been kept quite secret, I did not escape some quizzing 
from my friends, who could have foretold me, from their 
own experience, how troublesome the friendship of the 
captain might become upon occasion. 

But now, while I am thinking what should be set down 
next, a strange play of memory brings again into my thoughts 
that reverend cathedral building, which in those days en- 
grossed so much of my attention, and which, in town and 
country alike, stands out so prominently to the eye. 

The more I considered the fa^ade^ the more my first 
impression strengthened and developed, that here the 
sublime and the pleasing were allied. If the immense is 
not to terrify us when we contemplate it, nor confuse us 
when we seek to investigate its details, it must enter into an 
unnatural and apparently impossible alliance with the beau- 
tiful. But the mere fact that it is impossible to convey the 
impression produced by the cathedral except by presupposing 
the union of such incompatible qualities, is sufficient proof 



342 POETRY AND TRUTH [PART ii. book ix 

in itself of the great virtue of this ancient edifice, and will 
lead us to consider seriously how such conflicting elements 
could possibly form a united and harmonious whole. 

First of all, putting aside the towers, we will restrict our 
considerations to the facade alone, the oblong shape of 
which rises impressively before us. If we approach it at 
twilight, by moonlight, or on a starlight night, when the 
separate parts appear more or less indistinct and at last 
merge into one another, we see only a colossal wall, the 
height well proportioned to its breadth. If we look at 
it by day, and by an effort withdraw our attention from all 
details, we recognize the front of a building which not only 
closes in the interior, but also conceals what is behind it. 
The openings in this vast surface suggest internal require- 
ments, and according to these we can at once divide it 
into nine compartments. The great middle door, which 
opens into the nave of the church, first meets the eye. On 
either side are two smaller doors, belonging to the aisles. 
Over' the main entrance our glance falls upon the rose 
window, through which a dim religious light pervades the 
church and its vaulted arches. At the ends of the facade 
are two high and narrow inlets, which form a striking 
contrast with the middle one, and indicate that they belong 
to the base of the rising towers. Above the doors and 
window appears a series of three openings designed for the 
convenience of the bell-ringers and for similar purposes. 
Finally the whole is bounded horizontally by the balustrade 
of the gallery, in place of a cornice. These sections, corre- 
sponding to the nine inlets, are supported, enclosed, and 
separated into three great perpendicular masses by four 
buttresses rising from the ground. 

Now as one cannot deny that the building as a whole 
shows a fine proportion of height to breadth, so also the 
buttresses and the intervening spaces produce an effect of 
harmony and lightness. 

But so long as we continue to disregard the details and to 
think of this immense wall as without ornamentation beyond 
its solid buttresses and its necessary inlets, which are limited 
to the actual requirements of the building, the whole will 
slill appear grand and noble indeed, but heavy, unpleasing, 
and, in its lack of ornament, inartistic. For a work of art 



I770] STRASBURG MINSTER 343 

which is apprehended as a whole only by the contemplation 
of its main divisions in their grandeur, simplicity, and har- 
mony produces an impression of stateliness and dignity ; but 
tlie peculiar enjoyment derived from our delight in beauty 
can only result from the co-operation of all the elaborated 
details. 

And it is precisely in this respect that the building we 
are examining satisfies us in the highest degree : for all the 
decorations are exactly suited to the special part that they 
adorn ; they are subordinate to it, they seem to have grown 
out of it. Variety of this kind always gives great pleasure, 
since it has its source in the fitness of things, and therefore 
at the same time awakens a feeling of unity. It is only in 
such cases that execution can be said to have attained the 
highest summit of art. 

By such means, a solid piece of masonry, an impene- 
trable wall, the basis moreover of two lofty towers, was to 
appear to the eye, not only as self-supporting and self- 
sufficient, but at the same time as light and ornate, and, 
though pierced in a thousand places, to give the idea of 
indestructible solidity. 

This problem has been most happily solved. The 
inlets in the wall, its solid portions, the buttresses, all 
have their individual character, resulting from their indi- 
vidual purpose. This character is maintained in all the 
subdivisions and in all the ornamentation employed ; every- 
thing, both great and small, is in its right place, and can 
easily be grasped, and thus a sense of beauty is combined 
with that of vastness. It is enough to mention the doors 
receding in perspective into the thickness of the wall, and 
with their endlessly ornate columns and pointed arches ; 
the window with the outline of its frame-work, as well as 
the slender reedlike columns of the perpendicular sub- 
divisions. Let memory conjure up the buttresses retreating 
step by step, with their little, slender, light-pillared, pointed 
structures, striving upwards too and supporting canopies 
to protect the images of the saints, and how at last every 
rib, every boss, is like a head of blossom and spray of 
leaves, or some other natural object transformed into stone. 
Let my reader compare, if not the building itself, yet repre- 
sentations of the whole and of its parts, to confirm and 



344 POETRY AND TRUTH [part ii. book ix 

give reality to my words. They may seem exaggerated to 
many, for in my own case, though I fell in love with the 
building at first sight, yet it took me a long time to grow 
intimately acquainted with its value. 

I had grown up among enemies of Gothic architecture, 
and continued to cherish my aversion for that intricate, over- 
elaborate ornamentation, which, by its lack of purpose, 
inspired repugnance to its characteristic religious gloom; 
and as my experience had only brought me into contact 
with inferior examples of this style, devoid of good pro- 
portions and of artistic consistency, my dislike to it had 
constantly increased. But here I thought I saw a new 
revelation, since none of those defects appeared, but rather 
a contrary impression was produced. 

But the longer I looked and considered, the more I 
seemed to discover yet greater merits even beyond those 
I have already mentioned. I had already appreciated the 
just proportions of the main divisions, the way in which 
the minutest ornament was as appropriate as it was rich ; 
but now I began to realize the connection of the various 
ornaments with each other, the transition from one leading 
part to another, the intertwining of details, homogeneous 
indeed, but yet greatly varying in form, from the saint to 
the monster, from the leaf to the toothed edge. The more I 
investigated, the more I was astonished ; the more I amused 
and wearied myself with measuring and drawing, the more 
did my attachment increase, so that I spent much time, 
partly in studying what actually existed, partly in restoring, 
in my mind and on paper, what was wanting and unfinished, 
especially in the towers. 

The fact that this building had been founded in an old 
German town, and had prospered thus far in genuine German 
times, and that the name of the builder, on his modest grave- 
stone, was also of native sound and origin, induced me, in 
my admiration of this work of art, to change the hitherto 
decried appellation of "Gothic architecture" for that of 
"German architecture,'* thereby laying claim to it as a 
national product ; nor did I fail to bring my patriotic views 
to light, first orally, and afterwards in a little treatise, dedi- 
cated to the memory of Ervinus a Steinbach. 

If my biographical narrative should come down to the 



i77o3 STUDY OF GERMAN ARCHITECTURE 345 

epoch when the said article appeared in print, afterwards 
inserted by Herder in his pamphlet : Von DetUscher Art und 
Kunst^ (of German Character and Art,) much more will be 
said on this weighty subject. But before turning from it 
for the present, I will take the opportunity of vindicating the 
motto prefixed to the present volume, for the benefit of those 
who may have entertained some doubt about it. I know 
well indeed that in opposition to this honest, hopeful old 
German saying : " The wishes of youth are garnered in 
age ! " many might quote a contrary experience, and that 
it might be the subject of much argument. But much also 
is to be said in its favour, and I will try to explain my own 
thoughts on the matter. 

Our wishes are presentiments of the capabilities which 
lie within us, and harbingers of that which we shall be in a 
position to perform. Whatever we are able and would like 
to do, presents itself to our imagination, as lying without us 
and in the future; we feel a longing after that which we 
already possess in secret. Thus our eager grasp into the 
future converts a possibility into the realization of our 
dreams. Now if there is such a decided bias in our 
nature, then, with every step in our development, a part of 
our original desire will be fulfilled^— under favourable circum- 
stances in a direct way, under unfavourable in a circuitous 
way, which, however, will always lead us back to the other 
again. Thus we see men attain by perseverance to worldly 
wealth; they surround themselves with riches, splendour, 
and outward honours. Others strive yet more surely after 
intellectual advantages, and in time acquire for themselves a 
clear view of all things, peace of mind, and a feeling of 
security for the present and the future. 

But there is a third ambition, compounded of both, the 
issue of which must be the most certain of success. When, 
namely, a man's youth falls in a pregnant age, when produc- 
tion outweighs destruction, so that he is early stirred to a 
presentiment of what such an epoch demands and promises : 
then, forced by outward inducements to active interest, he 
will lay hold on this side and on that, spurred by a desire for 
manifold activity. But so many accidental hindrances join 
with human limitations, that here we have unfinished be- 
ginnings, there an empty grasp, and wish after wish crumbles 



346 POETRY AND TRUTH [part ii. book ix 

away. But if these wishes have sprung from a pure heart, and 
are in conformity with the necessities of the times, we may 
composedly look on unfinished plans and frustrated efforts in 
the calm assurance that not only will the incomplete come 
to completion, the dropped threads be resumed, but that 
also many kindred things, things we have never attempted, 
never even thought of, will be brought to pass. And if, 
during our own lifetime, we see that performed by others, 
to which we ourselves felt an earlier call, but which we 
had perforce relinquished, with so much besides : then the 
inspirmg feeling must be ours, that only mankind in its 
entirety is the true man, and that the individual can only 
then be joyous and happy when he has the courage to merge 
himself in the great whole. 

These reflections are not out of place here ; for when I 
reflect on the love which drew me to these ancient buildings, 
and calculate the time which I devoted to the Strasburg 
minster alone, the attention with which I afterwards ex- 
amined the cathedrals at Cologne and at Freiburg, so that 
their magnificence grew on me continually, I could almost 
blame myself for having afterwards lost sight of them 
altogether, indeed, for having thrust them completely into the 
background, attracted by a^ore highly developed form of art. 
But when, nowadays, I see attention turn once more to those 
subjects, when I see the love, nay, I may say the passion 
for these things revived and flourishing, when I see young 
men of ability inspired by this passion, recklessly lavishing 
their powers, time, care, and wealth on these memorials 
of past ages, then I am pleasingly reminded that what was 
once the object of my efforts and desires was not without 
its value. I note with satisfaction that these devotees not 
only know how to prize what was done by our forefathers, 
but that from existing unfinished beginnings they try to build 
up, pictorially at least, the original design, and thus help us 
to realize the original conception, which must always be the 
beginning and end of all undertakings ; and so they strive 
with sober zeal to throw light and soul into what must 
otherwise seem a confused past. Here I would mention 
with special praise the work of Sulpice Boisser^e, who is 
labouring indefatigably to make a magnificent series of 
copper-plates which are to show how Cologne Cathedral 



i77o] STUDY OF GERMAN ARCHITECTURE 347 

is a standing example of those vast conceptions which, 
like the tower of Babel, strove to reach heaven, and which 
were so out of proportion to their earthly means, that 
their execution necessarily remained incomplete. If we 
have been hitherto astonished that such buildings are still 
unfinished, we shall learn with the greatest wonder what was 
the architect's original design. 

Would that artistic studies of this kind were duly patron- 
ized by all who have power, wealth, and influence, that our 
forefathers* vast designs might be duly interpreted for our 
use, and that we might be able to form some conception 
o4" what they dared to desire. The insight resulting 
from such study would not be fruitless, and we should at 
length be in a condition to judge these works with justice. 
Indeed, our zealous young friend will be best furthering the 
interests of this subject if, besides the monograph devoted 
to Cologne Cathedral, he will follow out in detail the 
history of our mediaeval architecture. When, further, what- 
ever is to be known about the practical side of this art is 
brought to light, when the art itself is studied in all its 
fundamental features by light of comparison with Graeco- 
Roman and Egypto-Oriental architecture, then little will 
remain to be done in this department. And when the 
results of such patriotic labours are made known to the 
public at large, as they at present are to a small circle of 
friends by private circulation, then I shall be able, with true 
satisfaction, to repeat that motto in its best sense : " The 
wishes of youth are garnered in age." 

But if, for results like these, which are the work of 
centuries, we can afford to wait on time and opportunity, 
there are, on the contrary, pleasant things which in youth 
must be enjoyed at once, in their freshness, like ripe fruits. 
And this sudden change of subject leads me to mention 
dancing, which is as present to the ear as the minster is to 
the eye every day and every hour in Strasburg, and, indeed, 
in all Alsace. From our earliest youth my sister and I had 
been taught dancing by our father himself, a task which 
must have sat strangely enough on so stern a man; but 
even in this he never lost his calm composure ; he drilled us 
with the greatest precision in positions and steps, and when 
he had brought us to the point of dancing a minuet, would) 

L 



34^ POETRY AND TRUTH [part ii. book ix 

play something easy for us in three-four time, on dLflidte-dauce^ 
to which we danced as best we could. On the French stage, 
too, I had seen from my youth upwards, if not ballets, yet 
pas smis and pai de deux, and had noticed in them all 
sorts of wonderful steps and movements. So when w^e 
had had enough of the minuet, I used to beg my father for 
other dance music, of which our music-books offered us a 
rich supply in jigs and murkis;* and I had no difficulty 
in adapting steps and other movements to them, for my 
limbs moved naturally to time, as if by an inborn instinct. 
This rather pleased my father; indeed, he often let the 
" little monkeys " dance away to amuse himself and us. 
After my mishap with Gretchen, and during the whole of 
my residence in Leipzig, I never once appeared in a 
ball-room; on the contrary, I still remember that when, 
at a ball, they forced me to take part in a minuet, my 
limbs seemed to have lost all suppleness and rhythm, and I 
could no longer remember either steps or figures, so that 
I should have been put to disgrace and shame if the greater 
part of the spectators had not maintained that my awkward 
behaviour was pure obstinacy, assumed merely with the view 
of curing the ladies of all desire to draw me into their circle 
against my will. 

During my residence in Frankfort, I was quite cut off 
from such pleasures : but in Strasburg, with the return 
of healthy my limbs regained their old sense of time and 
measure. Sundays or week-days, you could saunter by 
no pleasure-ground without finding there a merry crowd 
assembled for the dance, and most of them already whirling 
round. There were, besides, private balls in country-houses, 
and people were already talking of the brilliant fancy balls 
of the coming winter. Here, indeed, I should have been 
out of place, and a useless member of society ; but a friend, 
who waltzed very well, advised me to practise first in less 
select assemblies, so as to fit myself gradually for the best. 
He took me to a dancing-master, who was well known for 
his skill ; this man promised me that when I had gone over 
the first elements a little, and mastered them again, he 

* A **murki" is defined as an old species of short composition for 
the harpsichord, with a lively murmuring accompaniment in the bass. 
— Trafis, 



I770] THE dancing-master's DAUGHTER 349 

would then take me further afield. He was a. Frenchman 
of the dry, versatile kind, and took great pains with me. 
I paid him a month in advance, and received twelve tickets, 
for which he agreed to give me a certain number of hours. 
The man was strict and precise, but not pedantic ; and as 
I had already had some previous practice, I soon gave him 
satisfaction and deserved his commendation. 

One circumstance, however, was of considerable help to 
his teaching ; he had two daughters, both pretty, and both 
still under twenty. Pupils of the art from their youth up- 
wards, they had acquired great skill, and could, as partners, 
have helped even the clumsiest learner to make pro- 
gress. They had charming manners, spoke nothing but 
French, and I, on my part, did my best not to cut an 
awkward or ridiculous figure before them. Fortunately they 
were kind enough to approve of me, and were always willing 
to dance a minuet to their father's fiddling, and, what indeed 
was more difficult for them, to initiate me, by degrees, into 
the art of whirling round in the waltz. Their father did not 
seem to have many pupils, and they led a lonely life. For 
this reason they often asked me to stop after my lesson was 
over, and to chat with them a little. I made no objections, 
as I found the younger one very attractive, and as both 
were perfectly proper in their behaviour. I often read 
aloud from a novel, or listened to their reading. The elder, 
who was as handsome as the second, perhaps even hand- 
somer, but who did not please my taste so well, was parti- 
cularly kind and attentive. She was always at hand during 
the lesson, and would even lengthen it out ; so much so that 
I more than once thought myself bound to offer two 
tickets to her father, who, however, would not accept them. 
The younger, on the contrary, though never unfriendly, was 
rather reserved, and waited to be called by her father before 
she relieved the elder. 

The reason of this was explained to me one evening. 
For when, after the dance was done, I was about to go into 
the sitting-room with the elder, she held me back and said, 
'* Let us stop here a little longer ; for I must confess to you 
that my sister has with her a woman who tells fortunes from 
cards, who is to reveal to her how matters stand with an 
absent lover, whom she loves with her whole heart, and on 



350 POETRY AND TRUTH [part ii. book ix 

whom she has placed all her hopes. Mine is free," she 
continued, " and I must get used to seeing it despised." . I 
then made her a few pretty speeches, adding that she could 
at once convince herself on that point by consulting the 
wise woman herself; I would do so too, as I had long 
wished to experience something of the kind, but had hitherto 
been too sceptical. She blamed me for this, assuring me that 
nothing in the world was more trustworthy than the answers 
of this oracle, only it must be consulted, not in a spirit of 
fun and mischief, but solely in matters of genuine import- 
ance. However, I at last compelled her to follow me into 
the room, as soon as she had ascertained that the consulta- 
tion was over. We found her sister in a very cheerful mood, 
with a warmer welcome for me than usual, gay, and almost 
witty ; no doubt feeling secure of an absent friend, she thought 
it no treachery to be a little gracious to one of her sister's 
present friends, as she thought me to be. The old woman 
was now cajoled, and promised good payment, if she would 
tell the truth to the elder sister and to me. With all the 
usual preparations and ceremonies she began her office with 
a view to telling the girl's fortune tirst. She carefully con- 
sidered the lie of the cards, but seemed to hesitate, and 
would not speak out what she had to say. " I see," said 
the younger sister, who was more skilled in the interpreta- 
tion of such a magic forecast, " you hesitate, not wishing to 
tell my sister disagreeable truths; but that is an unlucky 
card ! " The elder one turned pale, but with an eflfort at 
composure said, " Only speak out ; after all, no one's head 
is at stake." The old woman, with a deep sigh, showed her 
that she was in love, that her love was not returned, for 
another one stood in her way, and other things of like 
import. The poor girFs trouble was evident. The old 
woman thought she would improve matters by holding 
out hopes of letters and money. " Letters," said my fair 
companion, " I do not expect, and money I do not desire. 
If it is true, as you say, that I love, I deserve a heart that 
loves me in return." " Let us see if we can do better," 
replied the old woman, as she shuffled the cards and 
laid them out a second time ; but we all saw the forecast 
only yet darker. The fair girl was shown not only lonelier, 
but surrounded by many sorrows; her lover still further 



i77o| THE FORTUNE-TELLER 351 

removed from her, and the intervening figures nearer. The 
old woman was anxious to try a third time, in hopes of a 
better result ; but the poor child could restrain herself no 
longer, she broke out into uncontrollable weeping, and, 
shaking with violent sobs, she turned and rushed from the 
room. I was at a loss what to do. Inclination kept me by 
my present companion ; compassion drove me to the other ; 
it was a painful situation. "Comfort Lucinda,'* said the 
younger ; ** go after her." I hesitated ; how could I comfort 
her without at least assuring her of some sort of affection, 
and could I trust myself at such a moment to do so with 
coolness and moderation ? " Let us go together," I said to 
Emilia. " I am not sure that my presence will do her any 
good," she replied. Yet we went, but found the door 
bolted. Lucinda made no answer ; knock, call, entreat, as 
we would, it was in vain. " We must let her have her own 
way," said Emilia ; " nothing else would be any use now." 
And, indeed, when I called to mind her manner from our 
very first acquaintance, it struck me she had always been of 
a passionate and uneven disposition, and had chiefly shown 
her affection for me by treating me with exceptional polite- 
ness. What was I to do ? I paid the old woman well for the 
mischief she had done, and was about to take my leave, 
when Emilia said, " I stipulate that the cards shall now be 
cut for you too." The old woman was ready. " I will not be 
present at any rate," I cried, and hurried downstairs. . 

The next day I had not the courage to go there. The 
third day, early in the morning, Emilia sent me word by a 
boy who had already brought me many a message from the 
sisters, and had carried back flowers and fruit to them in 
return, that I must not fail to come that day. I arrived at 
the usual hour, and found the father alone. He set to work 
to improve my paces and steps, my way of advancing and 
retiring, my bearing and behaviour, and seemed to be quite 
satisfied with me. The younger daughter came in towards 
the end of the lesson, and danced a very graceful minuet 
with me, and that so charmingly that her father declared his 
floor had rarely seen a prettier or a nimbler couple. After 
the lesson, I went as usual into the sitting-room ; the father 
left us alone ; I missed Lucinda. " She is in bed," said 
Emilia, " and I am glad of it ; do not trouble about it. The 



352 POETRY AND TRUTH [part ii. book ix 

best cure for her mental ailments is to fancy herself sick in 
body ; she does not want to die, and so does what we say. 
We have certain family medicines which she takes; then 
she rests, and so, by degrees, the ruffled waves are stilled. 
She is, indeedy only too good and patient in such imaginary 
illnesses, and as she is really in perfect health, and only 
suffering from her passion, she imagines various kinds of 
romantic deaths, with which she loves to frighten herself, 
like children when we tell them ghost-stories. Only yester- 
day evening she declared to me with great vehemence, that 
this time she should certainly die, and that only when she 
was really near death, they were again to bring before her 
that false, ungrateful friend, who had at first acted so hand- 
somely towards her, and now treated her so ill ; she would 
reproach, him bitterly, and then give up the ghost." " I am 
not aware," I exclaimed, " that I have ever been guilty of 
expressing any sort of affection for her. I know who can 
best bear me out on this point." Emilia smiled and re- 
joined, ** I quite understand you ; and unless we are firm 
and discreet now, we shall all be in a bad plight together. 
What will you say if I ask you to discontinue your lessons ? 
You have, I believe, four tickets still over for the last 
month, and my father has already said that he does not 
think he is justified in taking your money any longer, unless 
you intend to devote yourself seriously to dancing as an art ; 
you have learnt all that a young man in society can need." 
" Is it you, Emilia, who advise me to shun your house ? " 
I replied. " Yes, I do," she said, " but not because it is my 
wish. Listen. When you hurried off the day before 
yesterday, I had the cards cut for you, and the same answer 
was repeated three times, and each time more emphatically. 
You were surrounded by all good things, by friends and 
noble lords, and money without stint. The ladies kept at 
some distance. My poor sister in particular was always 
farthest off; one other constantly drew nearer to you, but 
never reached your side, for another man always came 
between. I will confess that I thought myself meant by the 
second lady, and after such an admission you cannot fail to 
understand my well-meant counsel. My heart and hand are 
promised to an absent friend ; until now he stood first in 
my affection; yet your presence might possibly become 



I770] SCENE WITH THE TWO SISTERS 353 

more important to me than hitherto, and what would your 
position then be between two sisters, one of whom you 
had made unhappy by your affection, and the other by your 
coldness, and in any case the whole trouble would be so 
useless and so short ? For even if we had not known already 
who you are and what are your expectations, the cards 
would have made it perfectly clear to me. Farewell ! " she 
said, and held out her hand. I hesitated. " And now," she 
said, leading me to the door, " since this may really be the 
last time that we shall speak to one another, take what I 
would otherwise have denied you." She fell upon my neck 
and kissed me tenderly. I took her in my arms and pressed 
her to my heart. 

At this moment the side-door flew open, and her sister, 
not unbecomingly attired in a light night-dress, sprang out 
crying, "You shall not be the only one to take leave of 
him ! " Emilia let me go, and Lucinda seized me, clung 
tightly to me^ pressed her black locks against my cheeks, 
nor did she instantly let go her hold. Thus I found- myself 
in that dilemma between two sisters which Emilia had 
prophesied only a moment before. Lucinda let me go at 
last, and gazed earnestly into my face. I would have taken 
her hand and said kind words to her, but she turned away, 
walked up and down the room fiercely once or twice, and 
then threw herself into a comer of the sofa. Emilia went 
to her, only to be instantly repulsed, and then a scene began 
which it still pains me to recall, and which, though not 
really theatrical in itself, but quite natural to a passionate 
young Frenchwoman, could only be properly reproduced by 
a good and stirring actress on the stage. 

Lucinda overwhelmed her sister with reproaches. " This 
is not the first heart," she cried, " that you have stolen from 
me when it had turned to me. Was it not exactly the 
same with him who is now absent, and who at last betrothed 
himself to you under my very eyes ? I was compelled to 
look on ; I endured it ; but I know the thousands of tears 
that it has cost me. And now you take this one from 
me, without letting the other go ; how many can you con- 
trive to hold at once? I am frank and good-natured, so 
everyone thinks he soon knows all there is to know about 
me, and he can throw me on one side. You are reserved 
VOL. I. 2 A 



354 POETRY AND TRUTH [part ii. book ix 

and quiet, and people think you are concealing wonderful 
depths within. Yet there is nothing behind but a cold, 
selfish heart that can sacrifice everything to itself ; nobody 
learns this easily, because you keep it deep hidden in your 
breast ; and just as little do they know of my warm, true 
heart, because it is as open as my face." 

In silence Emilia sat down by her sister, who, growing 
more and more excited as she talked, let slip certain private 
matters which it was not exactly fitting I should know. 
EmiUa, who was trying to pacify her sister, made a sign to 
me behind her back that I should leave them; but as 
jealousy and suspicion have a thousand eyes, tliis too did 
not seem to escape Lucinda's notice. She sprang to her 
feet and came towards me, yet not angrily. She stood 
before me and considered for a moment. Then she said, 
" I know that I have lost you ; I make no further claims on 
you. But you shall not have him either, sister ! " With 
these words she took my head between her hands, thrusting 
her fingers in my hair, and, pressing my face to hers, kissed 
me over and over again upon the lips. " Now," she cried, 
" fear my curse ! Woe upon woe, for ever and ever, to her 
who kisses these lips for the first time after me ! Dare 
to have anything more to do with him ! I know heaven 
hears me this time. And now, Sir, be gone, be gone as 
quickly as you can ! " 

I flew downstairs, with the firm determination never to 
enter the house again. 



TENTH BOOK 

As soon as German poets ceased to be united and to stand 
together as members of a guild, they also ceased to enjoy 
any privilege in the world at large. They had no footing, no 
standing, no influence, except in so far as these came to 
them through other channels, and therefore it was a matter 
of mere chance whether talent was born to honour or to 
disgrace. A poor sprig of humanity, conscious of mental 
powers and faculties, was forced to crawl painfully through 
life, and, under pressure of momentary ifecessities, to 
squander those gifts which he had assuredly received from 
the Muses. Occasional poems, the first and most genuine of 
all branches of poetry, had become so despicable, that the 
nation even now cannot be persuaded of their true value ; 
and a poet, unless, indeed, he followed in Giinther's footsteps, 
lived in the world in the most melancholy state of sub- 
serviency, a jester and a parasite, so that both on the 
theatrical stage and on the stage of life he played a part 
which anyone and everyone might abuse at pleasure. 

If, on the contrary, the Muse associated herself with men 
of position, she conferred on these a lustre which was reflected 
back upon herself. Noblemen with experience of afiairs, 
like Hagedom, dignified citizens, like Brookes, distinguished 
men of science, like Haller, took their place among the 
highest in the land, and ranked among the most eminent and 
the most highly valued names. Those, too, were specially 
honoured who, in possession of this delightful talent, had 
yet distinguished themselves as active and reliable business 
men. For example, Uz, Rabener, and Weisse enjoyed 
peculiar respect ; for in them it was possible to appreciate 
the combination of those heterogeneous qualities which are 
so seldom found united. 

But now the time was approaching when poetic genius 



356 POETRY AND TRUTH [part ii. book x 

was to become aware of its own power, to create its own 
conditions, and to understand how to lay the foundations of 
a dignified independence. All the influences necessary for 
the inauguration of such an epoch were combined in 
Klopstock.. He was pure both in body and soul. The 
serious and thorough education he received taught him 
early to place a high value upon himself and upon all his 
actions, and, as he thoughtfully planned out his course of 
life, he turned, as if with a presentiment of the whole 
strength which was within him, to the loftiest theme imagi- 
nation can conceive. The Messiah, a name betokening 
infinite attributes, was to be glorified anew in his verse. 
The Redeemer was the hero whom the poet aspired to 
accompany through earthly lowliness and sorrow to the 
highest heavenly triumphs. And this task called into 
requisition all the forces — human, angelic, and divine — of 
his youthful soul. Brought up on the Bible and nourished 
by its strength, he now lived with patriarchs, prophets, and 
forerunners, as if they were present with him ; yet through 
all the ages the only object of their being was to draw 
a halo of brightness round the One whose humiliation they 
behold with astonishment, and in whose exaltation they are 
gloriously to bear a part. For at last, after fearful hours of 
gloom, the everlasting Judge will roll the clouds from before 
his face, again acknowledge his Son and Partaker of his 
Godhead, who, on his part, will lead back to Him the 
estranged hearts of men, nay, even a fallen spirit. The 
living heavens shout with a thousand angel voices round the 
throne, and a stream Of radiant love is poured out upon the 
universe, that universe whose gaze had been so recently fixed 
upon the scene of so tremendous a sacrifice. That heavenly 
peace which Klopstock felt in the conception and execution 
of this poem, communicates itself even now to everyone 
who reads the first ten cantos, and makes him deaf to 
those demands which the voice of progress is slow to 
renounce. 

The dignity of the subject enhanced in the poet the 
feeling of his own personality. That he himself would one 
day form one of those heavenly choirs, that the God-Man 
would single him out, nay, give him face to face that reward 
of his labours, which every feeling and devout heart on earth 



I770] KLOPSTOCK 357 

had already fondly paid to him in many a tender tear — these 
were such innocent, childlike thoughts and hopes, as only 
a pure mind can conceive and cherish. Thus Klopstock 
gained the perfect right to regard himself as one set apart, 
and studied in his actions the most scrupulous purity. Even 
in his old age it troubled him exceedingly that he had given 
his earliest love to a lady who, by marrying another, left him 
in uncertainty whether she had really loved him or been 
worthy of him. The sentiments which bound him to 
Meta, their heartfelt, tranquil affection, their short conse- 
crated married life, the aversion of the surviving husband 
to a second imion — all was such as he need not fear to 
recall hereafter in the circle of the blessed. 

This high standard of personal conduct was still further 
confirmed in him by the hospitality he long received in 
friendly Denmark, in the house of a great and, from a human 
standpoint, excellent statesman. Here, in a higher social 
circle, which was exclusive indeed, but, at the same time, 
much addicted to consider superficial morals and the world's 
opinion, his tendency became still more decided. A com- 
posed demeanour, a measured and laconic speech, even 
when speaking openly and decisively, gave him through life a 
certain diplomatic ministerial self-importance, which seemed 
to be at variance with his tender natural feelings, although 
both sprang from one source. All this is both portrayed 
and typified in his first works, and they could not therefore 
fail to exert an incredible influence. One of his most de- 
cided characteristics has not been mentioned, namely, that 
he personally assisted others who were struggling to make 
a way in life or poetry. 

But the same desire to further young writers in their 
literary career, and delight in helping on hopeful spirits on 
whom fortune frowned, and making the way easy for them, 
was the glory of another German, one who, in his own esti- 
mation, would indeed take the second place, but, in regard 
to his living influence, may well rank as first. No one 
can fail to understand that we are here referring to Gleim. 
He held an obscure but lucrative office in a pleasantly 
situated town, not too large, yet full of military, civic, and 
literary activity, from which a great and wealthy institution 
drew its revenues, of which a part at any rate remained to 



358 POETRY AND TRUTH [part ii. book x 

enrich the town. Hence he felt within himself an eager 
creative impulse, which, however, with all its strength^ did 
not quite suffice him, so that he gave himself up to another, 
perhaps even stronger impulse, that, namely, of helping others 
to produce. Both these activities were constantly interwoven 
during his whole long life. He could as well live without 
breathing, as without writing poetry and making presents. 
By helping needy talent of all kinds through its earlier or 
later difficulties, and so contributing largely to the glories 
of our literature, he won so many friends, debtors, and 
dependants, that his diffiise verse was well received by all, 
since toleration of his poetry was the only return possible 
for his abundant benefits. 

Now, the high idea which these two men might well 
form of their own worth, and by which others were induced 
to estimate their powers unduly, has produced very great and 
good results, both in public and private. But this self- 
esteem, honourable as it is, had a bad consequence in one par- 
ticular direction for themselves, for those around them, and 
for their times. If, judged by their intellectual activities, 
both these men may without hesitation be called great, yet 
with respect to the world at large they remained but unim- 
portant, and their social position insignificant, compared 
with that won by a more stirring life. The day is long, 
and so is the night ; one cannot be always versifying, writing, 
or producing ; their time could not be filled up like that of 
the worldling and men of rank and wealth ; they therefore 
set too high a value on their own narrow sphere and attached 
an importance to their daily affairs which they should have 
kept to themselves, and took more than reasonable delight in 
their own jokes, which, though amusing for the moment, 
could be of no ultimate consequence. They received praise 
and honour from others, as they deserved ; they returned it, 
with moderation indeed, but always too profusely ; and be- 
cause they were so fully convinced of the value of their friend- 
ship, they took delight in expressing it repeatedly, sparing 
neither paper nor ink in such assurances. Thus arose those 
series of letters whose lack of matter is the astonishment 
of modern readers ; nor can we blame them, when they fail 
to understand how such eminent men could delight in an 
interchange of empty nothings, or when they express the wish 



i77o\ HERDER 359 

that such papers had never been printed. But we may well 
let these few volumes stand along with so many others upon 
our bookshelves, when they have once taught us the lesson 
that even the most eminent man has to live an everyday 
life, and enjoys but miserable fare, when he lives too much 
within himself, and neglects to take his part in the fulness 
of life around him, where alone he can find nourishment 
for his growth, and at the same time a standard by which 
to measure it. 

The literary activity of these men was at its height when 
we young folk also began to bestir ourselves in our own 
circle, and I was in danger of falling into the same system 
of reciprocal flattery, forbearance, and mutual admiration 
with the friends of my own age, if not, indeed, with my 
elders. In my immediate circle, everything I produced met 
with approval. Ladies, friends, and patrons will never 
condemn what is undertaken and written to please them. 
And such obligations must at last result in a mere interchange 
of compliments and empty phrases, in which all individuality 
is easily lost, if it is not from time to time steeled to higher 
excellence. 

But it was my good fortune at this time to form an 
unexpected friendship, through which all the self-com- 
placency, personal vanity, conceit, pride, and haughtiness 
that may have been latent or at work within me, were put to 
a very severe trial, a trial unique in its kind, and quite at 
variance with current custom, and therefore so much the more 
searching and unsparing. 

For this most important event, one that was to have the 
weightiest consequences for me, was my acquaintance with 
Herder, and the closer friendship with him which sprung 
from it. He was then travelling companion to the Prince of 
Holstein-Eutin, who had fallen into a state of melancholia, 
and the two had come together to Strasburg. As soon as 
our society heard of his arrival, all its members longed for the 
opportunity of meeting him, but I was the first to meet with 
this good fortune, quite unexpectedly and by chance. 
I had gone to the Inn zum Geist to inquire after some 
distinguished stranger or other. I was just going up- 
stairs when I saw a man in front of me, whom I might have 
taken for a clergyman. His powdered hair was in a queue. 



360 POETRY AND TRUTH [part ii. book x 

his black clothes were remarkable, but still more a long 
black silk cloak, the skirts of which were gathered up 
and tucked into his pocket. This somewhat striking, but 
yet, #n the whole, elegant and pleasing figure, had already 
been described to me, so that it left me not the least doubt 
that he was the celebrated new-comer, and I showed my 
certainty by addressing him by name. He asked me mine, 
which could be of no consequence to him ; but my frankness 
seemed to please him, since he met it with like friendliness, 
and, as we went upstairs, he entered into an animated con- 
versation with me. I have forgotten whom we visited ; the 
important point is, that at parting I begged permission to 
wait on him at his own residence, and he consented in the 
kindliest manner. I did not neglect to avail myself repeatedly 
of this favour, and was more and more attracted by him. 
He had a gentle manner, which became him well without 
being exactly easy ; a round face, an imposing forehead, almost 
a snub nose, a somewhat prominent, but highly characteristic, 
pleasing, and attractive mouth ; a pair of coal-black eyes 
under black eyebrows, striking and expressive, though one 
was often red and inflamed. He questioned me in all manner 
of ways about myself and my position, and his power of 
attraction grew upon me daily. I was in general of, a very 
confiding disposition, and with him especially I had no 
secrets. It was not long, however, before I struck an 
antagonistic note in his nature, which caused me considerable 
uneasiness. I had given him a full account of my youthful 
occupations and hobbies, and amongst others, of a collection 
of seals I had got together, principally by the help of our 
family friend, who had an extensive correspondence. I had 
arranged th^m according to the State Calendar, and by this 
means had become well acquainted with all the potentates 
and the greater and lesser principalities and powers, even 
down to the nobility. These heraldic insignia had often 
been of use to my memory, especially in the coronation 
festivities. I spoke of these with some complacency ; but 
here he differed entirely from me, and not only stripped the 
subject of all interest, but contrived to make it look ridiculous 
and almost distasteful. 

This spirit of contradiction in him was to trouble me still 
further, for he had resolved to remain in Strasburg, partly 



i77o] HERDER 36 1 

because he wished to separate from the prince, partly on 
account of an aflfection of his eyes. The complaint he 
suffered from is one peculiarly inconvenient and trouble- 
some, and can be cured only by a painful, highly unpleasant 
and risky operation. The tear-bag is closed below, so that the 
moisture contained in it cannot flow off to tlie nose, 
especially as the aperture by which this secretion should 
naturally take place is lacking in the adjacent bone. The 
bottom of the tear-bag must therefore be cut open, and 
the bone pierced : then a horse-hair is drawn through the 
lachrymal point, then down through the opened tear-bag, and 
the new channel thus put into connection with it, and this 
hair is moved backwards and forwards every day, in order to 
restore the communication between the two parts ; and this 
cannot be done without first making a local incision to 
reach the affected organ. 

Herder now separated from the prince, moved into 
lodgings of his own, and resolved to be operated on by 
Lobsteih. Here my endeavours to blunt my susceptibilities 
stood me in good stead ; I was able to be present at the 
operation, and to be serviceable and helpful to my dis- 
tinguished friend in many ways. I also had ample 
opportunity of admiring his great firmness and endurance : 
for neither during the numerous surgical operations, nor 
during the continual painful dressings, did he show the 
least irritation, and of all of us seemed to be the one who 
suffered least. But in the intervals, indeed, his uncertain 
temper gave us much to put up with. I say wCy for besides 
myself, a good-humoured Russian, Peglow by name, was 
often with him. This man had formerly made Herder's 
acquaintance in Riga, and, though no longer a youth, was 
trying to perfect himself in surgery under Lobstein's guidance. 
Herder could be charmingly attractive and brilliant, but he 
could just as easily be bad-tempered and gruff. AH men, 
indeed, have this twofold power of attraction and repulsion, 
some more, some less, some in longer, some in shorter 
spells, according to their nature ; many can assume a sem- 
blance of control in this respect, few attain it in reality. 
As for Herder, the preponderance of his contradictory, bitter, 
biting humour was certainly due to disease and the sufferings 
arising from it This often occurs in life; we do not 



362 POETRY AND TRUTH [part ii. book x 

sufficiently take into consideration the moral effect of a sickly 
constitution, and therefore judge many characters unjustly by 
assuming that all men are healthy, and requiring of them 
that they should act accordingly. 

All the while he was undergoing this treatment I visited 
Herder morning and evening ; I even spent whole days with 
him, and was soon all the more ready to forgive him his 
chiding and fault-finding, as I daily learned to appreciate his 
great and beautiful qualities, his deep-sighted knowledge, and 
his wide views on life. The influence of this good-natured 
ranter was great and important. He was five years older 
than myself, which in youth makes a great difference to begin 
with ; and as I acknowledged his true worth, and tried justly 
to appreciate what he had already produced, he necessarily 
gained a great ascendency over me. But the situation was far 
from easy; for those older persons, with whom I had associated 
hitherto, while they tried to mould me, had done so with 
indulgence, perhaps had even spoiled me by their tolerance ; 
but from Herder, do what one would, it was vain to expect 
approval. Now, the conflict between my great affection and 
reverence for him on the one hand, and the dissatisfaction he 
excited in me on the other, gave rise to an inward struggle, 
the first of its kind which I had experienced in my life. 
Since his conversation always carried weight, whether he 
asked or answered questions, or communicated his opinions in 
any other way, my intercourse with him could not but open 
out new views to mre every day and every hour. At Leipzig, 
I had grown accustomed to a narrow and circumscribed way 
of life, nor had my position in Frankfort helped to extend 
my general knowledge of German literature ; for there my past 
mystical, religious, and scientific researches had rather led 
me into obscure paths, and I was practically ignorant of what 
had been passing for some years back in the wider literary 
world. Through Herder, however, I was at once to learn all 
its new aspirations and tendencies. He had already made 
himself sufficiently known, and by his Fragmente^ his 
Kritische Walder (Critical Forests), and other works, had 
immediately won a place by the side of the most eminent 
men who had long stood conspicuous in the nation's eyes. 
• The stirring of such a mind, the ferment of such a 
nature, are beyond imagination or description. But the 



I770] HERDER 363 

hidden effort must have been great, indeed, when one 
considers how long and how vigorously that mind continued 
to work and write. 

We had not lived together long in this manner when he 
confided to me that he meant to be a competitor for the 
prize which was offered at Berlin for the best treatise on 
the origin of language. His work was already near com- 
pletion, and, as he wrote a very neat hand, he was soon 
able to show me portions of his legible manuscript. I had 
never given any thought to such subjects, for I was yet too 
d eeply invol ved in the middle of thingg tg^have thought 
about fheir beginning arid end.'r^The 'question, too^ seemedl 
To me to some extent an idle one ; for if God created man! 
as man, language must be just as innate in him as walking! 
erect ; and it must have been equally apparent to him tha^ 
he could sing with his throat, and modify the tones irt 
various ways by tongue, palate, and lips, as that he could 
walk and take hold of things. If man was of divine origin, 
so was also language itself ; and if man, considered in the 
sphere of nature, was a natural being, language was likewise 
natural. These two things seemed to me as inseparable as 
soul and body. Siissmilch, whose crude realism was yet 
imbued with fantastic notions, had declared himself for the 
divine origin, that is, that God had played the schoolmaster 
to the original man. Herder's treatise went to show that 
man as man could and must have attained to language only 
by his own powers. I read the treatise with much pleasure, 
and it helped to fortify my mind ; only I had not yet reached 
a high enough level in thought or knowledge to be able 
to judge it adequately. So I contented myself with praising 
the author, merely adding a few remarks which followed 
naturally from my point of view. But it was one and 
the same to him : he scolded and blamed, whether one 
agreed with him conditionally or unconditionally. The 
fat surgeon was less patient than I ; he humorously declined 
the offer to peruse the prize-essay, declaring he was unfit to 
meditate on such abstract topics. He urged on us in 
preference a game of ombre, w^hich we usually played 
together in the evening. 

During his troublesome and painful cure. Herder lost 
none of his vivacity, but a good deal of his amiability. 



364 POETRY AND TRUTH [part ii. book x 

He could not write a note to ask a favour, without adding 
the spice of some sarcasm. Once, for instance, he wrote to 
me as follows : — 

" If those letters of Brutus thou hast in thy Cicero's letters, 
Thou, whom the classic consolers, deck'd out in magnificent 

bindings, 
Soothe from their well -planed shelves — ^yet more by the outside than 

inside, 
Thou, who from gods art descended, or Goths, or from origin goatish,* 
Goethe, send them to me.** 

It was certainly not polite of him to allow himself this 
jest upon my name ; for a man's name is not like a cloak, 
which merely hangs about him, and which, perchance, may 
be twitched and pulled with impunity; but is a perfectly 
fitting garment, which has grown over and around him like 
his very skin, and which one cannot scratch and scrape 
without wounding the man himself. 

The first reproach, on the contrary, was better founded. 
I had brought with me to Strasburg the authors I had 
obtained, by exchange, from Langer, and various fine 
editions from my father's collection besides, and had 
arranged them neatly on a book-case, with the best 
intentions of using them. But how should my time, which 
I dissipated in a hundred different channels, suffice for that ? 
Herder, who had an eye for books, since he needed them 
every moment, had noticed my fine collection at his first 
visit, but soon saw, too, that I made no use of them. And 
being by nature the greatest enemy to all false appearances 
and ostentation, it was his habit, on occasion, to rally me on 
the subject. 

Another sarcastic poem occurs to me, which he sent me 
one evening, when I had been telling him a great deal about 
the Dresden gallery. I had not, it is true, grasped the 
higher meaning of the Italian school ; but Domenico ]Feti, 
an excellent artist, although a humorist, and therefore not of 
the first rank, had interested me much. It was the custom 
to paint scriptural subjects. He confined himself to the 

* The German word is " Kot *' {filth), and the whole object of the 
line is to introduce a play on the words " Goethe," " Gotter," " Goten," 
and ** Yio\.:'— Trans, 



I770] herder's sarcasms 365 

New Testament parables, and was fond of representing 
them with much originality, taste, and humour. He trans- 
ported them altogether into everyday life, and the spirited 
and naive details of his compositions, drawn with a bold 
touch, had made a vivid impression on me. At this 
childish enthusiasm of mine for art, Herder sneered in the 
following fashion : — 

" Through sympathy 
One master gives me most delight — 
He, Domenico Feti hight. 
A Scripture parable so well he knows 
Into a jesting fable to transpose, 
Through sympathy — O parable jocose ! " 

I could mention many jokes of the kind, clear and 
abstruse, merry and bitter. They did not vex me, but 
made me feel uncomfortable. Yet since I highly valued 
everything that contributed to my own education, and had 
often relinquished earlier opinions and tastes, I soon learnt 
to adapt myself to his ways, and only tried, as far as was 
possible from my point of view at the time, to distinguish 
just blame from unjust invectives. So never a day passed 
which did not bring me fruitful matter for instruction. 

I learnt to know poetry from quite a different side, 
and in another light than heretofore, one, too, which suited 
me well. Hebrew poetry, which he had treated in a 
masterly manner on the lines of his predecessor Lowth-^— 
popular songs such as he urged us to search for in Alsace ; 
and the poetry of the oldest extant records — all bear witness 
that all poetry is a gift to the world and to nations, and^ 
not the private inheritance of a few refined and cultivated 
men. All this I eagerly imbibed, and the more anxious \ 
was to receive, the more liberal he was in giving, so that we 
spent most interesting hours together. I tried, too, to 
persevere in the other scientific studies which I had begun, 
and as one always has time enough, if one applies '"it 
well, so in the end I succeeded in doing twice or thrice^ as 
mudi as usual. Of those few crowded weeks we lived 
together, I can truly say that they contained the germ of all 
that Herder has gradually produced since, so that I was in 
the fortunate condition of being able to complete, to ennoble, 
and to expand all that I had hitherto thought, learned, 



366 POETRY AND TRUTH [part ii. book x 

and made my own. Had Herder been more methodical, 
he might have given me invaluable guidance, and a last- 
ing bent to my education; but he was more inclined to 
test and stimulate, than to lead and guide. For example, 
he first made me acquainted with Hamann's writings, upon 
which he set great store. But instead of giving me any 
instruction on the point, and making me understand the 
bias and drift of his extraordinary mind, he was merely 
amused at my clumsy struggles to get at the meaning of 
such sibylline writings. I could, nevertheless, feel that some- 
thing in Hamann's writings appealed to me ; and I gave 
myself up to this influence without knowing whence it came 
or whither it was leading me. 

The treatment had already lasted longer than was 
reasonable, when Lobstein began to hesitate^ and to go 
back upon himself, so that the aifair seemed endless ; 
Peglow, too, had confided to me in private that a favourable 
issue was hardly to be expected ; the whole situation grew 
oppressive; Herder lost his patience and cheerfulness, he 
could not continue his work with the same assiduity, 
especially as they began to lay the blame of the failure 
of the operation upon his excessive mental exertions, and 
his constant, animated, and merry intercourse with us. 
Suffice it to say, that after so much trouble and suffering, the 
artificial tear-channel would not form, and the intended pas- 
sage remained blocked. It was necessary to let the wound 
heal to prevent the disease from growing worse. If, during the 
operation, we had been forced to admire Herder's fortitude 
under pain, the melancholy and even grim resignation with 
which he faced the idea that he must bear such a disfigure- 
ment for life, was so truly sublime, that it won him the 
reverence of all those who saw and loved him. This blot 
upon an otherwise expressive countenance must have been 
all the more trying for him, as he had succeeded in winning 
the afiection of a most delightful lady whose acquaintance 
he had made in Darmstadt. It was probably mainly on 
her account that he submitted to the cure, so that, on his 
return, he might seem more at ease, more cheerful, and 
more pleasing in her eyes, and be in a position to confirm 
and clinch their tacit betrothal. However, he was anxious 
to leave Strasburg as soon as possible, and since "his stay had 



I770] herder's departure 367 

hitherto been as expensive as it was unpleasant, I borrowed 
a sum of money on his behalf, which he promised to refund 
within a stated period. The time passed by, however, and 
no money came. My creditor did not actually dun me ; but I 
was for several weeks in some embarrassment. At last letter 
and money came to hand, and here again he was true to him- 
self ; for, instead of thanks or apology, his letter contained 
nothing but satirical doggerel, which would have puzzled, if 
not alienated, another than myself; but it did not move me 
at all, for the conception I had formed of his worth was so 
invincible that it absorbed any feeling of an opposite nature 
which might have detracted from it. 

One should never speak, least of all in public, of one's 
own or of others* faults, except for some useful purpose; 
that is why I am about to insert here certain observations 
which have forced themselves upon me. 

Gratitude and ingratitude belong to those manifestations 
which occur continually in the moral world, and about 
which men can never agree among themselves. I usually 1 
distinguish between unthankfulness, ingratitude, and aver- 
sion to gratitude. The first is inborn in men, nay, created 
with them : for it arises from a happy lighthearted readiness 
to forget the unpleasant as well as the pleasant, which alone 
makes the continuation of life possible. Man stands in 
need of such an infinite variety of assistance both in the 
past and in the present to make his life tolerable, that if he 
were always attempting to pay to sun and earth, to God and 
nature, to ancestors and parents, to friends and companions, 
the thanks due to them, he would have neither time nor 
feeling left to receive and enjoy new benefits. But if the 
natural man suffers this heedlessness to get complete con- 
trol over him, a cold indifference gains on him more and 
more, until at last he comes to regard his benefactor as a 
stranger, to whom he may even do an injury, provided it 
be advantageous to himself. This alone can properly 
be termed ingratitude, and is merely an outcome of that 
barbarity to which our unbridled instinct must inevitably 
lead us. Aversion to gratitude, however, the rewarding of 
a benefit by ill-natured and sullen conduct, is very rare, and 
occurs only in eminent men, men who, conscious of great 
natural gifts, are, however, bom in a low rank of society or 



368 POETRY AND TRUTH [part ii. book x 

in helpless circumstances, and who must, therefore, from 
their youth upwards, force their way step by step, and 
receive, at every point, help and support, which the coarse- 
ness of their benefactors often renders bitter and repugnant, 
since the benefits they receive are earthly, whereas those 
they confer are of a higher nature, so that any kind of real 
compensation is, strictly Speaking, impossible. Lessing, with 
the fine knowledge of human ways which was his in the best 
years of his life, has in one place bluntly, but humorously, 
given his views on the subject. Herder, on the contrary, 
constantly embittered his best days, both for himself and 
others, because he knew not how to moderate, by strength 
of mind in later years, that ill-humour which circumstances 
had fostered in him in his youth. 

Nor is this an unreasonable demand on our own powers : 
for a man's capacity for self-improvement receives prompt 
and friendly aid from the light of nature, always actively at 
work within him to enlighten him on his condition ; and in 
general, in many points of moral culture, it is better not to 
tax our failings too severely, nor to strain too far after 
remote means of correcting them ; for it is even possible to 
cure certain faults most easily by playful measures. Thus, 
for instance, we can excite gratitude in ourselves, keep it 
alive, and even make it indispensable, by mere force of 
habit. 

In a biography it is fitting to speak of oneself. I am, 
by nature, as little grateful as any man, and besides being 
easily unmindful of benefits received, the passion excited by 
a momentary misunderstanding could very easily beguile 
me into ingratitude. 

To obviate this, I accustomed myself, in the first place, 
in the case of all my possessions, to call to mind with 
pleasure how I came by them, and from whom I received 
them, whether by way of present, exchange, or purchase, or 
by any other means. In showing my collections I have 
made a point of mentioning the names of those through 
whom I obtained each article, even to lay stress on any 
occasions or accidents or remotest causes and coincidences 
by which things which are dear and of value to me have 
become mine. This gives life to our surroundings; they 
stand to us in a spiritual and touching relationship as we 



I770] ARTIFICIAL GRATITUDE 369 

are reminded of their origin; atid, by thus making past 
circumstances present to us, our momentary existence is 
ennobled and enriched, the originators of such gifts rise 
repeatedly before the imagination, encircled by pleasing 
memories, ingratitude becomes impossible, and to return 
the favour seems easy and desirable. This leads us at the 
same time to the consideration of our intangible possessions, 
and we love to call to mind to whom we owe our nobler 
endowments. 

Before I turn my attention from that connection with 
Herder, which was so important and so rich in consequences 
for me, I must touch on yet another point. Nothing was 
more natural than that I should by degrees become more 
and more reserved towards Herder about those things 
which had hitherto contributed to my development, but 
more especially about such as still seriously occupied my 
attention at the moment. He had destroyed my enjoyment 
of much that had formerly delighted me, and had particu- 
larly blamed me most severely for the pleasure I found in 
Ovid's Metamorphoses. However warmly I might defend 
my favourite, saying that, for a youthful fancy, nothing 
could be more delightful than to linger in those blissful, 
glorious regions with gods and demi-gods, and to be a 
witness of their deeds and passions ; however circumstanti- 
ally I might quote the favourable opinion of a man of 
weight previously mentioned in these pages, and corroborate 
it by my own experience ; all went for nothing with Herder : 
there was no absolute truth, properly so called, to be found 
in these poems, he maintained ; here was neither Greece nor 
Italy, neither a primitive nor a civilized world, everything 
was rather an imitation of what had already existed, and a 
mannerized representation, such as could be expected only 
from a hypercivilized man. And if at last I ventured to j 
maintain, that whatever is produced by a great mind is also 
nature, and that always, in all nationaHties, ancient and 
modern, the poet alone has been the creative mind, this 
too was contested and made the subject of so much dispute 
that it all but destroyed my liking for Ovid ; for no affection, 
no habit is so strong, that it can hold out in the long run 
against the animadversions of great men who enjoy our 
confidence. These strictures always leave an after-taste, and 
VOL. I. 2 B 



370 POETRY AND TRUTH [part ii. book x 

where one cannot love unconditionally, love is already in a 
critical condition. 

I most carefully concealed from him my interest in certain 
subjects which had taken strong hold of me, and were, by 
degrees, moulding themselves into poetic form. These were 

j Gdtz von Berlichingen and Faust, The story of Gotz's life 
had captivated my imagination. The figure of this rough, 
well-meaning, independent spirit, in wild days of anarchy, 
awakened my deepest sympathy. The wonderful Faust 

legend of the old puppet-shows struck many and responsive 
chords within me. I too had trodden the paths of know- 

. ledge, and had early been led to see its vanity. In actual 
life, too, my experiences had been many, and I had returned 
more unsatisfied and troubled than before. So I carried 
these projects about with me, and delighted in them in my 
solitary hours, yet without committing anything to paper. 
But most of all, I concealed from Herder my mystic- 
cabalistic chemistry, and everything relating to it, though, in 
secret, I was still fond of trying to work out its problems to 
a more consistent form than that in which I had received 
them. Of my poetical labours, I believe I showed him Die 
Mitschuldigen^ but do not recollect that he gave it either 
praise or blame. Yet, in spite of all this, he remained what 
he was ; everything that came from him carried weight, if not 
encouragement — even his handwriting exercised a magic 
power over me. I do not remember ever tearing up or 
throwing away one of his letters, or even a mere envelope 
in his writing; yet, owing to many changes of time and 
place, not one memento of those strange, thrilling, and 
happy days is left me. 

That Herder's power of attraction operated upon others 
as well as upon me, need scarcely be mentioned here, had 
it not especially extended its influence to Jung, commonly 
known as Stilling. This man's true and honest striving 
could not but deeply interest any sympathetic mind, and 
his receptivity must have won the confidences of everyone 
who had anything to communicate. Even Herder behaved 
towards him with more forbearance than towards the rest of 
us : for any impression made on him always met with a corre- 
sponding response. There was so much good-wiU in Jung's 
narrow-mindedness, so much feeling and earnestness iu his 



I770] herder's influence ON JUNG 37 1 

insistence, that certainly no man of intelligence could have 
been harsh with him, nor any man with right feeling have 
scoffed at him, or turned him into ridicule. Jung, on his 
side, was exhilarated to such a degree by Herder, that he 
gained strength and hope in all undertakings ; so much so that 
his affection for me seemed to lose ground in proportion; 
yet we always remained good friends, made allowances for 
each other from first to last, and when possible never failed 
to do each other a good turn. — 

But now let us leave the sick chamber of our friend, and 
turn from such general considerations as concern a disordered 
rather than a healthy mind ; let us betake ourselves into the 
open air, to the cathedraPs broad and lofty gallery, as if the 
days were still present when we yoimg fellows often fixed 
an evening meeting there to greet the setting sun with 
brimming goblets. Here all conversation was lost in 
contemplation of the scenery : our eyesight was put to 
the proof, as everyone strained to see and plainly dis- 
tinguish the most distant objects. We used good telescopes 
to help us, and one friend after another would point out the 
exact spot which had become most precious to him ; I too 
had my favourite landmark, which, though it did not stand 
out in the landscape, nevertheless attracted me more magic- 
ally than all the rest. On these occasions we exerted our 
imaginations in recounting our adventures, or else concerted 
little expeditions, which were sometimes undertaken on the 
spur of the moment. I will here describe one out of a 
number of such incidents, chiefly because it was in several 
ways fruitful of consequences for me. 

With two of my good friends and fellow-boarders, Engel- 
bach and Weyland, both natives of Lower Alsace, I once 
rode on horseback to Zabern. It was fine, and the pleasant 
little place wore a smiling aspect. The sight of the bishop's 
castle awakened our admiration; the extent, height, and 
splendour of a new set of stables bore witness to the pros- 
perity of the owner in other respects. The magnificence of 
the staircase surprised us, we walked with reverence through 
halls and chambers ; only the person of the cardinal, a little 
wreck of a man, whom we saw at table, seemed out of place. 
The view of the garden is splendid, and a canal, three-quarters 
of a league long, which leads sfce\ight up to the centre of the 



372 POETRY AND TRUTH [part ii. book x 

castle, gives one a favourable idea of the taste and resources 
of the former possessors. We rambled up and down there, 
and enjoyed many parts of this beautifully situated building, 
which lies on the outskirts of the magnificent plain of Alsace 
at the foot of the Vosges. 

After enjoying our visit to this ecclesiastical outpost of 
royal power, and disporting ourselves in its precincts, we 
arrived early next morning before a triumph of engineering 
skill, which most fitly forms the entrance into a mighty 
kingdom. Illumined by the beams of the rising sun, the 
famous Zabem Pass, a work representing incredible labour, 
rose before us. A road, built serpent-wise over the most 
fearful crags, and wide enough for three wagons abreast, 
leads uphill so gently, that the ascent is scarcely per- 
ceptible. The firm, smooth surface of the road, the raised 
side-walk on either hand for foot-passengers, the stone 
gutters to lead off the mountain-water, all are as neat as 
they are artistic and durable, and are a real pleasure to the 
eye. This brings one gradually to Pfalzburg, a modern 
fortification. It lies upon a fair-sized hill; the defence 
works present quite an elegant appearance, built, as they 
are, on blackish rocks, and of the same kind of stone, whilst 
the joints indicated in white mortar show exactly the size of 
the square stones, and are a striking proof of good workman- 
ship. We found the place itself, as is proper for a fortress, 
regular, and built in stone, and the church in good taste. 
As we wandered through the streets — it was nine o'clock on 
Sunday morning — we heard music; they were already 
waltzing in the tavern, .amusing themselves to their hearts' 
content, and just as the inhabitants did not let themselves 
be disturbed in their pleasures by the great scarcity, nor 
even by the threatened famine, so our youthful cheerfulness 
was not in the least damped when the baker on the road 
refused us bread, and directed us to the inn, where, at any 
rate, we were allowed to consume it on the spot. 

And now we were glad to ride down the Zabern Pass 
and gaze at this architectural wonder a second time, enjoy- 
ing, too, once more the delightful view over Alsace. We 
soon reached Buchsweiler, where friend Weyland had made 
every preparation to receiy** us. The conditions of life in a 
small town are well ^' ^^ o a fresh and youthful mind ; 



i77o3 ZABERN— BUCHSWEILER 373 

family ties are closer and more evident; domestic life 
invites us pleasantly to share its modest activities, ranging 
from light official duties to town business, from agriculture to 
gardening ; sociability is essential, and the stranger can lead 
a pleasant existence in such a limited circle, unless in some 
way he comes into contact with the disputes of the in- 
habitants, which in small places such as these are neces- 
sarily more obtrusive. This little town was the capital of the 
county of Hanau-Lichtenberg, belonging to the Landgrave 
of Darmstadt, under French sovereignty. Owing to its being 
the seat of government and administration, the place was an 
important centre of a very fine and desirable principality. We 
quite forgot the uneven streets and the irregular architecture 
of the place when we went out to look at the old castle and 
the gardens, excellently laid out on the hillside. Numerous 
little woods, a preserve for tame and wild pheasants, and 
the relics of many similar devices for sport, showed how 
pleasant this little princely Residence must once have been. 

Yet all these views were surpassed by the prospect 
which met the eye from the neighbouring Baschberg.* It 
was like gazing over Paradise. This mountain, entirely 
composed of different kinds of shells, drew my attention for 
the first time to such documents of past ages ; I had never 
before seen them in so great a mass. Yet the eager eye 
soon turned exclusively to the landscape. You are standing 
on the last mountain promontory looking into Germany ; to 
the north lies a fruitful plain, interspersed with woods, and 
bounded by a stern chain of mountains stretching west- 
ward towards Zabern, where the episcopal palace and the 
abbey of St. John, lying a league beyond it, are plainly 
visible. Thence the eye follows the line of the Vosges 
mountains as they fade away in the distance towards the 
south. Turning to the north-east, you see the castle of 
Lichtenberg upon a rock, and towards the south-east the eye 
has the boundless plain of Alsace in view, as it gradually 
stretches away from sight iit the misty landscape, until at 
last the Suabian mountains melt away like shadows on the 
horizon. j 

Even in my restricted waiderings through the world, I 

* This is now called BastbergI The country described here has 
acquired an additional interest fronilhe Franco-German War of 1870-71. 



374 POETRY AND TRUTH [part ii. book x 

had remarked how important it is in travelling to learn the 
course of the streams, and to ask, even with regard to the 
smallest brook, in what direction it is running. It is 
possible by this means to obtain a general idea of the river- 
system of any country in which one may be travelling, a 
conception of the relative elevations and depressions of the 
ground, and these leading lines, helpful both to eye and 
memory, give the best assistance in solving geological and 
political puzzles. As I gazed my fill, I took a solemn farewell 
of my beloved Alsace, as the next morning we meant to 
turn our steps towards Lorraine. 

The evening passed away in friendly conversation, by 
which we tried to cheer ourselves in a joyless present, by 
the memories of a happier past. Here, as in the whole of 
this small province, the name of the last Count Reinhard 
von Hanau was held in especial veneration ; the whole of 
his career bore witness to his fine intellect and great abilities, 
and he has left behind him many fitting memorials to his 
worth. Such men have the advantage of being twofold 
benefactors : by enhancing the happiness of their own genera- 
tion, and by inspiring and sustaining in future ages the 
enthusiasm and courage of later times. 

As we turned north-westward into the mountains, passed 
by Liitzelstein, an old mountain tower in a hilly country, 
and descended into the region of the Saar and the Moselle, 
the heavens began to lower, as if to bring home to us more 
fully the wildness of the rugged western country. In the 
valley of the Saar, the first place we came to was the little 
town of Bockenheim, and opposite to it Neusaarwerden, 
well-built, with a country-seat. Here the valley is bordered 
on both sides by mountains which might be called melan- 
choly but for the endless succession of meadows and fields, 
called the Huhnau, stretching away from their foot as far 
as Saaralbe, and beyond it, further than the eye can reach. 
The great buildings, once belonging to the stables of the 
Duke of Lorraine, here attract the eye ; they are at present 
used as a dairy, and are well adapted to the purpose by 
their situation. We passed through Saargemiind to Saar- 
briick, which with its palace forms a bright spot in a land 
of rocks and forests. The small hilly town, which owes much 
to the late prince, makes a pleasing impression at first sight. 



1770] SAARBRUCK 375 

as the houses are all painted a greyish white, and their 
varying heights produce a pleasing irregularity. In the 
middle of a beautiful square, surrounded by handsome build- 
ings, stands the Lutheran church, small, but in proportion 
to the whole. The front of the castle is on the same level 
with the town ; the back, on the contrary, on a steep, rocky 
declivity. This has not only been laid out in terraces, to 
afford easy access to the valley, but an oblong garden has 
been formed below, by first turning off the stream on one 
side, and cutting away the rock on the other, and then filling 
up the whole space with earth and planting it. This under- 
taking fell in the epoch when they used to consult architects 
about the laying out of gardens, just as at present they call 
in the aid of the landscape-painter's art. The whole arrange- 
ment of the castle, costly and charming, rich and ornamental, 
spoke of a pleasure-loving owner, such as the deceased 
prince had been; the present owner was not at home. 
President von Giinderode received us most civilly, and 
entertained us for three days better than we had a right to 
expect. I made use of the various acquaintances we formed 
to gain a good deal of information. The life of the former 
prince^ rich in pleasure of all kinds, gave us material enough 
for conversation, and so did the various expedients he had 
adopted to develop the natural resources of his land. This 
was my first real initiation into that interest in mountain 
countries, and that love for agricultural and technical in- 
vestigations, which have occupied so great a part of my life. 
We heard of rich coal-pits at Dutweil, of iron and alum 
works, and even of a burning mountain, and we set out to 
see these wonders at close quarters. 

Our road now lay through woody mountains, which must 
of necessity seem wild and dreary to the inhabitant of a 
rich and fertile land, and can only attract him by the 
hidden riches of its soil. Here we came across two types 
of machinery, one simple, the other complex, within a short 
distance of each other; namely, a scythe-smithy and an 
example of cable- traction. If the former pleases because it 
takes the place of hand- labour, we cannot sufficiently admire 
the other, for its workings are far more organic as it were, and 
seem almost endowed with sense and consciousness. In the 
alum-works we made accurate inquiries as to the production 



376 POETRY AND TRUTH [part ii. book x 

and purifying of this highly useful material, and when we asked 
the use of great heaps of a white greasy, spongy, earthy sub- 
stance which we saw lying about, the labourers answered, 
smiling, that it was the scum thrown up by the boiling alum, 
and that Herr Stauf had it collected, as he hoped perhaps 
to turn it to some profit. " Is Herr Stauf still alive ? " ex- 
claimed my companion in surprise. They answered in the 
affirmative, and assured us that our route would not take 
us far from his lonely dwelling. 

Our road now led us upwards along the conduits of 
the alum-water, and near the principal workings called 
the LandgrubCy from .which comes the famous Dutweil 
coal. This coal, when dry, has the colour of dark blue 
steel, and at every movement the most beautiful succession 
of rainbow tints plays over its surface. The dark openings 
of the coal-mines, however, did not attract us as they might 
have done, as we could see their contents lying in profusion 
all around us. We now reached the open troughs, in which 
the calcined alum schists are steeped in ley, and soon after, 
a strange occurrence surprised us, though we had been fore- 
warned. We entered a chasm and found ourselves in the 
region of the burning mountain. A strong smell of sulphur 
surrounded us ; one side of the gorge was almost red-hot, 
covered with reddish stone burnt white ; thick fumes arose 
from the crevices, and we felt the heat of the ground through 
the thick soles of our boots. It is not known how this place 
became ignited, but this accidental advantage is of the 
greatest help in the manufacture of alum, since the alum- 
schists which form the surface of the mountain lie there 
ready calcined to hand, and merely need to be dipped at 
once. The whole chasm had been formed by the gradual 
removal and using up of the calcined schists. We climbed 
out of this ravine, and were on the top of the mountain. 
The ground above and on both sides of the gorge was 
encircled by a lovely beech- wood. Many trees were already 
withered, some were beginning to die, while their neighbours, 
still fresh and green, felt no forebodings of that fierce heat 
which was drawing nearer and nearer and threatening their 
roots as well. 

Steam issued from some openings in the ground, others 
had already ceased to smoke, and so this fire had smouldered 



I770] COAL-MINES AND ALUM- WORKS 377 

on for ten years in the old disused pits and shafts with which 
the mountain is undermined. It may, too, have penetrated 
through various crevices to new coal-beds : for, some hundred 
paces further in the wood, evident indications had been found 
of abundant coal-seams ; the miners had attempted to work 
them, but had not excavated far before they were over- 
whelmed and scattered by an outburst of the dense smoke. 
The opening was filled up again, yet we found the place 
still smoking as we passed it on our way to the residence of 
our hermit chemist. It lies buried amid woods and moun- 
tains and amongst pleasant winding valleys ; the soil round 
about is black and coal-like, and, indeed, coal-seams frequently 
come to the surface. A coal philosopher— /^//«?j^/^«j/<^ 
ignem^ as they used to say — could scarcely have settled him- 
self more suitably. 

We came to a small and by no means inconvenient 
house, and found Herr Stauf, who immediately recognized 
my friend, and received him with lamentations over the new 
government. We judged from what he said, that the alum- 
works, like so many other well-meant institutions, either from 
external or perhaps internal causes, did not pay expenses, 
and heard many complaints of* a similar nature. He be- 
longed to the chemists of those days, who, with a strong 
appreciation of the possible applications of natural products, 
yet took delight in abstruse investigations of trifles and 
unimportant details, and, through lack of knowledge, failed 
in the practical skill by which alone economic and mer- 
cantile profit can be made. Thus the advantages which 
he promised himself from the scum we had seen were 
remote indeed, and all he could show us as the outcome 
of his labours on the burning mountain was a cake of sal- 
ammoniac. 

Eager and glad to pour his complaints into a human ear, 
the lean, decrepit little man, with a shoe on one foot and 
a slipper on the other, and with loose stockings which he 
kept pulling up in vain, dragged himself to the top of the 
mountain where the resin-house stands, which he had built 
himself, and was now sadly compelled to watch falling into 
ruin. We here were shown a connected row of furnaces, 
where coal was to be cleansed of sulphur, and msfde fit for 
use in iron-works ; but at the same time they proposed to 



378 POETRY AND TRUTH Cpart ii. book x 

turn the oil and resin to account; and what is more, they 
would not even lose the soot; and thus everything failed, 
through the mistake of having too many irons in the fire 
at once. During the lifetime of the former prince, the busi- 
ness had been carried on as a hobby, with the hope of 
future gain ; now the demand was for immediate profit, and 
this did not appear. 

Leaving our adept to his solitude, we hastened on — for 
it was getting late — to the glass-house in Friedrichstal, and 
on our way fell in with one of the most remarkable and 
wonderful manifestations of human ingenuity. 

But one or two pleasant adventures, and some surprising 
fireworks at night-fall, not far from Neukirch, amused us 
youngsters almost more than any of these important ex- 
periences. For, just as a few nights before, on the banks 
of the Saar, shining clouds of glow-worms had hovered round 
us, between rock and thicket, so now the flying sparks from 
the forges sent up a bright shower of fireworks in our direc- 
tion. We passed, in the depth of night, the smelting-houses 
in the bottom of the valley, and were delighted with the 
strange half-gloom of these wooden huts, but dimly lighted 
through the small opening in the glowing furnace. The 
noise of the water, and of the bellows driven by it, the 
fearful whizzing and shrieking of the blast of air which, as 
it pours raging into the smelted ore, stuns the ears and 
confuses the senses, drove us away at last, and we found 
quarters at Neukirch, which lies on the movmtain-slope. 

But, in spite of all the varied experiences and fatigues 
of the day, I could find no rest here. I left my friend to a 
happy sleep, and climbed up to the shooting-box. It looks 
out far over mountain and wood, whose outlines alone were 
visible against the clear night-sky, whilst their flanks and 
under depths remained impenetrable to my sight. The 
well-preserved building was as empty as it was lonely ; no 
inmate, no huntsman to be found. I sat before the great 
glass doors upon the steps which run round the whole 
terrace. Here, surrounded by mountains, looking down on 
the dark, wooded soil, which seemed darker still in contrast 
with the clear horizon of a summer night, the glowing starry 
vault above me, I sat for a long time alone on the deserted 
spot, and thought I never had felt such solitude. How 



1770] ZWEIBRUCKEN 379 

pleasant was my surprise at hearing the distant sound of a 
couple of hunting-horns, which suddenly stirred the peaceful 
air with a fragrant breath. And this recalled to me the 
image of that fair being which had been driven into the 
background by the varied interests of these travelling days ; 
it now seemed to stand more clearly before me, and drove 
me back to my quarters again, where I made hasty 
preparations to set off as early as possible. 

We did not make the same good use of our return 
journey. We hurried through Zweibriicken, though the 
beauty of its remarkable castle might well have deserved 
our attention, merely casting a glance at the great, simple 
edifice, on the extensive esplanades, planted with rows of 
lime-trees, and so well adapted for the training of race- 
horses, at the commodious stables, and at the dwelling- 
houses which the prince had built for sale by auction. All 
this, as well as the costume and manners of the inhabitants, 
especially of the girls and married women, told of inter- 
course with the foreigner, and especially pointed to con- 
nection with Paris, whose influence had long made itself 
felt in all provinces across the Rhine. We also visited the 
ducal cellars, situated outside the city, extensive, and 
furnished with large, well-made vats. As we pushed on, 
the country was not unlike that in the neighbourhood of 
Saarbriick. Amongst wild, uncultivated mountains lay a few 
scattered villages in a country where you cease to look for 
cornfields. We climbed up, along the Hornbach, to Bitsch, 
which lies at the important point where the waters divide, 
and fall, part into the Saar, part into the Rhine. It was the 
Rhine watershed that was soon to attract us. Yet we could 
not leave the little city of Bitsch unnoticed, as it clings 
picturesquely to the mountain side, nor the fortress which 
surmounts it. This is partly built on the rocks, and partly 
hewn out of them. The subterranean chambers are par- 
ticularly wonderful. These are not only spacious enough 
to shelter large numbers of men and cattle, but one even 
lights upon large vaults for the drilling of troops, a mill, a 
chapel, and everything else that could be required when it 
was not safe to live above-ground. 

We next followed the streams in their downward course 
through Barental. The dense forests on both sides of the 



380 POETRY AND TRUTH [part ii. book x 

valley remain unexploited by the hand of man. Here 
trunks of trees lie rotting on each other by thousands, and 
countless saplings spring up from their mouldering pro- 
genitors. As we walked through these woods some chance 
companions let fall the name of von Dieterich, a name 
which we had already often heard honourably mentioned 
in these parts. The activity and cleverness of this 
man, his wealth, and the uses to which he applied it, all 
seemed in harmony. He might justly take delight in the 
acquisitions which he owed to his labours, and enjoy the 
profits which he rendered secure. The more I saw of the 
world, the more pleasure I took, not only in names of 
world-wide reputation, but in those held in special reverence 
and love in local districts. So it did not take me long to 
learn, by a few questions, that it was von Dieterich who had 
been the first to learn how to make successful use of the 
mountain treasures, iron, coal, and wood, and had so worked 
his way gradually to considerable wealth. 

Niederbrunn, which we now reached, was a fresh proof 
of this. He had purchased this little place from the Count 
of Leiningen and other part-proprietors, to erect important 
iron-works in the district. 

Here from the baths, founded by the Romans in by- 
gone ages, was wafted to me the spirit of ancient days ; and 
their venerable relics, in fragments of bas-reliefs and in- 
scriptions, capitals and shafts, peeped strangely out at me, 
from farm-houses, amidst household lumber and furniture. 

On our way up to the adjacent Wasenburg, I also paid my 
homage to a well-preserved inscription, a vow of gratitude 
to Mercury, engraved in the great mass of rock which forms 
the base of the castle on one side. The fortress itself lies on 
the last mountain, on the road from Bitsch towards Germany. 
It is the ruin of a German castle built upon Roman remains. 
From the tower the whole of Alsace lay once more before 
us, and the conspicuous minster-spire was the landmark 
which drew our eyes to Strasburg. But in front stretched 
the great forest of Hagenau, the towers of the town topping 
it from behind. I felt an attraction to the spot. We 
rode through Reichshof, where von Dieterich had built an 
imposing castle, and then from the hills near Niedermoder 
we watched the pleasant course of the little river Moder, 



I770] SESENHEIM ; 38 1 

flowing by the forest of Hagenau. At this point I left my 
friend to pay a ridiculous visit to a coal-mine, a visit 
which, at Dutweil, might have been of some serious interest, 
and I then rode through Hagenau, on the direct road— 
to which my feelings called me — to my beloved Sesenheim. 

For none of these views, whether of wild mountain 
regions, or of cheerful, fruitful, joyous lands, could rivet 
my mind's eye, which was fixed on another and more 
pleasing object. And how much lovelier the road seemed 
than it had done on my outward journey, for every step 
brought me again into the neighbourhood of a lady to 
whom I was heartily devoted, and who deserved my respect 
no less than my love. But before I take my friends with 
me to her simple country dwelling, I must be allowed to 
mention a circumstance which contributed much to quicken 
and strengthen my feeling for her, and the satisfaction which 
it afforded me. 

How ignorant I must have been of modern literature, 
may be gathered from the mode of life which I led at 
Frankfort, and from the studies to which I had devoted 
myself; and my residence in Strasburg had been of no 
advantage to me in this respect. But when Herder came, 
he not only helped us by his wide knowledge, but also 
by showing us many of the most recent publications. 
Among these he particularly praised to us the Vicar of 
Wakefield as an excellent work, and insisted on introducing 
us himself to the German translation by reading it aloud 
to us. 

His method of reading was quite unique ; anyone who 
has heard him preach will have some idea of it. His 
delivery, whatever the subject, this romance included, was 
perfectly grave and simple, entirely removed from any 
attempt at dramatic imitation ; he even avoided that variety 
which is not only permitted, but even required, in rendering 
an epic — ^a slight change of tone when different persons 
speaic, by which what everyone says is brought into relief, 
and the actor is distinguished from the narrator. Without 
being monotonous. Herder let everything proceed in the 
same tone, just as if nothing was present before him, but all 
was merely historical ; as if the shadows of these poetic 
figures did not act and live before him, but only glided 



382 POETRY AND TRUTH [part ii. book x 

gently by. Yet this style of readings from his lips had an 
infinite charm ; for, as he was extremely susceptible, and 
knew how to appreciate a work of the kind in all its aspects, 
he was able to reproduce the merits of the whole all the 
more^ clearly, as one was not disturbed by the sharp enuncia- 
tion of details, nor prevented from grasping the total 
impression which the whole' was meant to produce, 

A Protestant country clergyman is, perhaps, the most 
beautiful subject x- for a modem idyll ; he stands, like Mel- 
chizedek, for priest and king in one. With the most innocent 
state which can be imagined on earth, that of the husband- 
man, he is usually connected by similarity of occupation, 
as well as by similar family relationships ; he is a father, the 
head of a family, a tiller of the soil, and thus in every 
respect a member of the community. And his higher 
calling rests upon this pure, beautiful, earthly basis ; to him 
it is given to guide men through life, to care for their 
spiritual education, to bless them at all the turning-points of 
their existence, to instruct, to strengthen, to console them, 
and, if consolation is not sufficient for the present need, to 
call up and guarantee the hope of a happier future. Imagine 
such a man, with upright human sentiments, strong enough 
not to deviate from them imder any circumstances, and by 
these qualities raised above the common herd, from which 
one can expect neither righteousness nor constancy ; grant 
him the learning necessary for his office, as well as a 
cheerful, equable activity, which can be even passionate, 
since it neglects no opportunity of doing good, — and his 
endowments will be complete. But at the same time add 
the necessary limitation of circumstance that he may not 
only have to move in a narrow sphere, but may even be 
transferred to a narrower; endue him with good-nature, 
placability, resolution, and every other praiseworthy attribute 
that springs from firmness of character, and beyond all this 
a cheerful spirit of compliance, and a smiling indulgence for 
his own failings and those of others, — and you will have 
drawn a fairly accurate picture of the worthy Vicar of 
Wakefield. 

The delineation of this character as his life goes on in 
the midst of joys and sorrows, the ever-increasing interest of 
the story, due to the combination of the natural with the 



i77o] THE "VICAR OF WAKEFIELD** 383 

marvellous and the unexpected, make this novel one of the 
best which has ever been written ; it has, moreover, the great 
advantage of being perfectly moral, nay, in the best sense. 
Christian — for it represents the reward of good will and per- 
severance in the right, strengthens an implicit confidence in 
God, and attests the final triumph of good over evil ; and all 
this without a trace of cant or pedantry. The author was 
preserved from both of these by a greatness of mind that 
shows itself throughout in the form of irony, which helps to 
make this little book as full of wisdom as it is of charm. 
The author. Dr. Goldsmith, has without question great 
inaight into the strength and weakness of the moral world ; 
but at the same time he can thankfully acknowledge that 
he is an Englishman, and be duly appreciative of the 
advantages which his country and his nationality afford 
him. The family, which he minutely pictures for us, can 
barely lay claim to the ordinary comforts of the middle 
classes, and yet comes into contact with the highest rank ; its 
narrow circle, which is to contract still further, touches the 
outskirts of the great world through the natural course of 
social life ; this little skiflf floats on the agitated waves of 
English society, and for weal or woe it must expect injury or 
help from the vast fleet which sails around it. 

I may suppose that my readers know this work, and have 
it in their minds ; and if there is anyone to whom the name 
is new, or who is induced by my words to read it again, I 
am sure I shall have earned their gratitude. For the sake 
of the former, I would merely say in passing, that the vicar's 
wife is of that good, busy sort, who will not allow herself and 
her family to want for anything, but who is also for that 
very reason somewhat proud of herself and of them. There 
are two daughters, — Olivia, handsome and concerned with 
outward shows, Sophia, charming and more serious-minded ; 
nor will I omit to mention the blunt, industrious son Moses, 
always eager to follow in his father's steps. 

If Herder could be accused of any fault in his reading 
aloud, it was impatience ; he could not wait until his hearer 
had properly digested a certain part of the narrative, so as to 
be able to judge of it correctly ; hurrying on, he wanted to 
see immediate effects, and yet was generally displeased with 
their manifestation. He blamed the excess of feeUng which 



384 POETRY AND TRUTH [part ii. book x 

I showed at every step. I felt like a man, and like a young 
man ; it all seemed living, true, and present to me. He 
only valued the literary form, but saw clearly that I wis 
absorbed by the story, and this annoyed him. Peglow's 
observations, which were not the most refined, were still 
worse received; but he was especially angry at our want 
of perception in not noticing the use our author made of 
contrasts, and in allowing ourselves to be moved and 
carried away by them without remarking the recurring 
artifice. He could not forgive us for not seeing at once, or 
at least suspecting from the very beginning, that Burchell 
himself is the lord of whom he is speaking when he all but 
discloses his identity by passing in his narrative from the third 
to the first person; and when, finally, we rejoiced like children 
at the discovery and the consequent transformation of the 
poor needy wanderer into a rich and powerful lord, he 
immediately recalled the passage, which, in accordance with 
the author's own design, we had overlooked, and read us a 
powerful lecture on our stupidity. It will be seen from this 
that he regarded the book merely as a work of art, and 
required us to- do the same, though we were still in that 
condition when it is perfectly allowable to let works of art 
affect us as though they were simply natural products. 

I did not let myself be at all disturbed by Herder's in- 
vectives ; for, fortunately or unfortunately, it is the lot of the 
young that, when once anything has produced an impression 
on them, this impression must become a part of themselves, 
either for good or for evil. The above work had produced a 
great eflfect on me, for which I could not account, but it was 
true that I felt in harmony with that stoical frame of mind 
which rises above every circumstance, above fortune and 
misfortune, good and evil, life and death, and thus enters 
into possession of an ideal world. I could not, indeed, 
become conscious of this until later ; at the moment^ however, 
it occupied a great part of my thoughts ; but I could never 
have dreamed that I should be so soon transported from 
this world of fiction into its living counterpart. 

My fellow-boarder, Weyland, would from time to time 
enliven his quiet, laborious life by visiting his friends and 
relatives in the country (for he was a native of Alsace), and 
did me many a good turn on my little excursions, by 



I770] PLEASURES OF TRAVELLING INCOGNITO 385 

introducing me to various places and families, sometimes in 
person, sometimes by letters of introduction. He had often 
spoken to me of a country clergyman who lived near Drusen- 
heim, six leagues from Strasburg, in possession of a good 
living, an intelligent wife, and attractive daughters. He 
always spoke warmly of the hospitality and charming 
character of this family. This was more than sufficient to 
attract a young knight who had already accustomed himself 
to spend all his leisure days and hours on horseback and in 
the open air. So we decided to take this excursion, and 
my friend had to promise that when he introduced me 
he would say neither good nor ill of me, would treat me with 
perfect indifference, and allow me to make my appearance 
somewhat poorly and negligently, if not meanly, attired. He 
consented in the hope of some amusement. 

It is a pardonable whim in men of consequence 
occasionally to conceal their external advantages, so as to 
allow their own inner human nature free scope. That is 
why there is always something so attractive in the incog- 
nito of princes, and the adventures which result from it; 
they appear as disguised divinities, who are entitled to 
place a double value on all the good offices shown to them 
as individuals, and are in such a position that they can 
either make light of what is disagreeable or avoid it. That 
Jupiter should be well pleased in his incognito with Philemon 
and Baucis, and Henry the Fourth with his peasants after a 
day's hunting, is quite in the course of nature, and we 
approve it; but that a young man of no importance or 
reputation should take it into his head to amuse himself by 
assuming an incognito, might be construed by many as an 
unpardonable piece of arrogance. Yet since it is not here a 
question of the praise or blame attaching to such thoughts 
and actions, but rather of their actual, occurrence, we will 
on this occasion, for the sake of our own amusement, pardon 
the youngster his self-conceit ; and the more so, as I must 
here allege, that from youth upwards, a love of: disguising 
myself had been implanted in me by my stern fatKer himself. 

On this occasion, partly by cast-off clothes of my own, 
partly by borrowed garments and by the way of*dressing my 
hair, I had, if not disfigured myself, yet at least made myself 
look so odd, that my friend could not help laughing as we 

VOL. I. 2 



386 POETRY AND TRUTH [part h. book x 

went, especially as I knew how to imitate to perfection the 
bearing and gestures of the clumsy horsemen, generally 
known as "Latin riders." The fine road, the splendid 
weather and the near neighbourhood of the Rhine, put us 
in the best of humours. At Drusenheim we stopped a 
moment, he to make himself spruce, and I to rehearse my 
part, from which I was afraid I might now and then lapse. 
The country here has the characteristics of all the open, level 
parts of Alsace. We rode by a pleasant footpath through 
the meadows, soon reached Sesenheim, left our horses at the 
tavern, and walked leisurely towards the parsonage. " Do 
not be taken aback," said Weyland, showing me the house 
from a distance, " because it looks like a miserable old 
farm-house, it is all the younger inside." We stepped into 
the court-yard ; the look of the whole delighted me : for it 
had exactly that charm which we call picturesqueness, and 
which had so enthralled me in Dutch art. The effect which 
time exercises on all human handiwork was plainly visible. 
House, barn, and stable were just at that point of dilapidation 
where, indecisive and doubtful between preserving and 
rebuilding, the owner often neglects the one without being 
able to accomplish the other. 

As in the village, so in the court-yard, all was quiet and 
deserted. We found the father, a retiring yet friendly little 
man, quite alone, for the family were in the fields. He bade 
us welcome, and offered us some refreshment, which we 
declined. My friend hurried away to look after the ladies, 
and I remained alone with our host. "You are perhaps 
surprised," said he, "to find me in such poor quarters in 
a wealthy village, and with a lucrative living; but," he 
continued, "it all comes from irresolution. It has been 
promised me long ago by the parish, and even by persons in 
authority, that the house shall be rebuilt ; many plans have 
been already drawn up, examined and altered, none of them 
entirely rejected, and none carried into execution. This has 
gone on so many years, that I scarcely know how to control 
my impatience." I made him an answer such as I thought 
likely to sustain his hopes, and to encourage him to push the 
matter on more vigorously. He then proceeded to describe 
most confidentially the personages on whom such things de- 
pended, and though he was no great delineator of character, 



1770] THE pastor's FAMILY 387 

I could easily understand how the whole business had come 
to be delayed. The tone of friendly intimacy in the man 
was characteristic ; he talked to me as if he had known me 
for ten years, while there was nothing in his look from which 
I could have suspected that he was directing any attention 
to me. At last my friend came in with the mother. She 
seemed to look at me with quite different eyes. Her 
countenance was regular, and intelligent in expression ; she 
must have been beautiful in her youth. Her figure was tall 
and spare, but not more so than became her years, and when 
seen from behind, she still looked youthful and attractive. 
The elder daughter then came bounding in ; she inquired 
after Frederica, just as both the others had also done. The 
father assured them that he had not seen her since the three 
of them had gone out together. His daughter went out 
again to look for her sister ; the mother brought us some 
refreshment, and Weyland continued his conversation with 
the husband and wife, which turned entirely on common 
acquaintances and experiences ; for it is usual, when friends 
meet after some length of time, for them to ask and receive 
information on the whole circle of their acquaintanceship. 
I listened, and learned what I might expect from these new 
connections. 

The elder daughter came hastily back into the room, 
uneasy at not having found her sister. They were anxious 
about her, and blamed her for one bad habit and another ; 
only the father said, with calm composure, " Let her alone ; 
she will come back all right." At this instant she actually 
appeared at the door ; and then indeed a lovely star arose 
in this rural firmament Both daughters still wore German 
dress, as it was then called, and this almost obsolete national 
costume became Frederica particularly well. A short, 
white, full skirt, with a flounce, not too long to reveal 
the neatest little feet and ankles ; a tight white bodice and 
a black taffeta apron, — thus she stood on the boundary 
between town and peasant girl. Slender and light, she 
tripped along with buoyant step, and her neck seemed 
almost too delicate to bear the weight of the thick, fair 
plaits on the neat little head. The look of her merry, 
cheerful blue eyes was frank and free, and her pretty 
turned-up nose peered as freely into the air as if there could 



388 POETRY AND TRUTH [part ii. book x 

be no care in the world ; her straw hat hung on her arm, 
and thus, at the first glance, I had the delight of seeing 
and appreciating her at once in her full grace and loveliness. 

I now began to act my character in moderation, half 
ashamed of playing a joke on such good people. I had 
plenty of time to observe them well: for the girls con- 
tinued the previous conversation, and that with animation 
and humour. All neighbours and relations were again 
discussed, and there seemed, to my imagination, such a 
swarm of uncles and aunts and cousins, comers and goers, 
god-parents and guests, that I felt transported into the 
liveliest of wdrlds. All the members of the family had 
addressed a few words to me, the mother looked at me 
every time she came in or went out, but Frederica was the 
first to enter into conversation with me, asking me, as I took 
up and glanced through some music that was lying about, if 
I played too ? When I told her I did, she asked me to play 
something; but the father would not allow this, for he 
maintained that it was proper that the guest should be 
first entertained with some music or song. 

She played several things with some skill, and in the 
usual country style, and on a harpsichord, too, that the 
schoolmaster should have tuned long ago, if he had only 
had time. She was next to sing a song, one in a tender, 
melancholy strain, and here she failed. She rose and 
said, smiling, or rather with that look of happy serenity 
which was a characteristic of her face, ** If I sing badly, I 
cannot lay the blame on the harpsichord or the school- 
master ; but let us go out of doors ; then you shall hear my 
Alsatian and Swiss songs ; they sound much better." 

During supper-time, an idea which had already struck 
me, filled my mind to such a degree, that I grew meditative 
and silent, though the sprightliness of the elder sister, and 
the charm of the younger, roused me repeatedly from my 
reveries. My astonishment at finding myself actually trans- 
ported into the very midst of the Wakefield family was 
beyond all expression. The father, indeed, could not be 
compared with that excellent man ; but where will you find 
his like ? On the other hand, all the dignity tiiere peculiar 
to the husband, here appeared in the wife. To see her 
was to reverence and fear her. She bore the traces of a 



I770] THE PRIMROSE FAMILY 389 

wise upbringing in her quiet, easy, cheerful, and engaging 
manner. 

If the elder daughter had not Olivia's far-famed beauty, 
yet she was well made, lively, and rather impetuous ; she 
seemed full of activity, and lent a helping hand to her 
mother in all things. But it was by no means difficult to 
put Frederica in the place of Primrose's Sophia ; for little is 
said of the latter, but it is only taken for granted that she 
is sweetly lovable; and this girl was really so. Now as 
like occupations and like conditions, wherever they occur, 
produce similar, if not the same effects, so here too many 
things were talked about, and many things happened, which 
had already taken place in the Wakefield family. But when 
at last a younger son, long announced and impatiently 
expected by the father, sprang into the room, and boldly 
sat himself down by us, taking but little notice of the 
guests, I could scarcely help exclaiming, "And Moses 
too ! " 

The conversation at table gave us further insight into 
this country and family circle, for their talk turned on various 
droll incidents which had happened at different times. 
Frederica, who sat by me, took the opportunity to describe 
to me different localities in the neighbourhood which it was 
worth while to visit. As one story always calls forth 
another, I was better able to join in the conversation, with 
several anecdotes of my own, and as, in addition, there was 
no stint of good country wine, I stood in danger of forget- 
ting my rdle : my more prudent friend, seeing this, took 
advantage of the beautiful moonlight, and proposed a walk, 
to everyone's satisfaction. He gave his arm to the elder, I 
to the younger, and thus we went through the broad 
meadows, paying more attention to the heavens above us 
than to the earth, stretching away in the darkness at our 
feet. But Frederica's talk savoured little of moonlight ; the 
clearness of her words turned night into day, and there was 
nothing in what she said to indicate or excite feeling, except 
that her conversation included me more than it had done, 
since she described to me her own position, as well as the 
neighbourhood and her acquaintances, in the light in which 
I should probably become acquainted with them; for she 
hoped, she added, I would prove no exception, but would 



390 POETRY AND TRUTH [part ii. book x 

visit them again, as all strangers gladly did who had once 
been to see them. 

It was very pleasant to me to listen in silence to the 
description she gave of the little world in which she moved, 
and of the persons whom she particularly valued. The 
picture of her life which I gained from her words was at once 
so clear and so attractive that it produced a marvellous 
effect on me ; for I felt both a deep regret that I had not 
lived with her sooner, and at the same time a positively 
painful feeling of envy towards all who had hitherto had the 
good fortune to be near her. I followed closely, as if I had 
a right to do so, all her descriptions of men, whether under 
the names of neighbours, cousins, or god-parents, and my 
conjectures inclined now this way and now that ; but how 
could I discover anything in my complete ignorance of 
all the circumstances? At last she became more and 
more talkative, and I more and more silent. It was so 
pleasant to listen to her, and as I could only hear her voice, 
while her face, as well as the rest of the world, floated dimly 
in the twilight, it seemed to me as if I saw into her heart, 
which could not but be pure, since it could open out to me 
with such unconstrained directness. 

When my companion retired with me to the guest- 
chamber, which was prepared for us, he at once, with self- 
complacency, broke out into exclamations of amusement, 
and took great credit to himself for having surprised me so 
much with this counterpart of the Primrose family. I 
chimed in with his humour and expressed my gratitude. 
" Upon my word," he cried, the story is quite complete. 
The two families may very well be compared, and the 
gentleman in disguise here may assume the honour of 
passing for Mr. Burchell; moreover, since scoundrels are 
not so necessary in common life as in novels, I will for this 
time undertake the ro/e of the nephew, and behave myself 
better than he did." However, I immediately changed this 
conversation, pleasant though it might be to me, and asked 
him, first, to tell on his honour, if he really had not betrayed 
me ? His hearty disavowal quite convinced me. They had 
indeed inquired, he said, after the merry, boon companion 
who boarded at the same house with him in Strasburg, and 
of whom they had heard all sorts of marvellous nonsense. 



I770] NIGHT AT SESENHEIM 39 1 

I now passed on to other questions : Had she ever been in 
love? Was she now in love? Was she engaged? He 
replied to all in the negative. " Really," I replied, '* such 
natural cheerfulness is inconceivable to me. Had she loved 
and lost, and again recovered herself, or had she been 
betrothed, — in both these cases I could account for it." 

Thus we chatted together far into the night, and I was 
awake again at dawn. My desire to see her once more 
seemed irresistible ; but while I dressed, I was horrified at 
the disgraceful wardrobe I had so wantonly selected. Each 
article of clothing I put on made me seem more despicable 
in my own eyes; for everything had been selected to 
produce this effect. My hair I might perhaps have set to 
rights; but when at last I struggled into the worn-ovit, 
borrowed grey coat, and saw what a ridiculous appearance 
the shortness of the sleeves gave me, I fell into despair, all 
the more as, in the small looking-glass, I could see myself 
only piecemeal, and each part looked more ridiculous than 
the other. 

During this process my friend awoke, and with the satis- 
faction of a good conscience, and in pleasurable anticipation 
of the coming day, beamed at me from under the quilted 
silk of our counterpane. I had long been envying him his 
fine clothes, as they hung over the chair, and had he been 
of my size, I would have carried them off before his eyes, 
changed my dress outside, and hurrying into the garden, left 
my accursed husk for him; he would have been good- 
humoured enough to get into my clothes, and thus the tale 
would have come to a merry ending early in the morning. 
But that was not now to be thought of, nor did there seem 
to be any other feasible solution. To reappear before 
Frederica in the figure which my friend could fittingly 
describe as that of an industrious and gifted but poor 
student of theology, — before Frederica, who the evening 
before had spoken so kindly to my disguised self, — that was 
altogether impossible. There I stood, vexed and thoughtful, 
summoning all my powers of invention ; but they deserted 
me ! However, when my friend, luxuriously stretched upon 
his pillows, after fixing his eyes upon me for a while, burst 
suddenly into a loud laugh, and exclaimed, " No ! there's 
no denying it, you look disgraceful ! " I replied impetuously, 






392 POETRY AND TRUTH [part li. book X 

" And I know what I will do. Good-bye, and make my 
excuses ! " " Are you mad ? " he cried, springing out of 
bed and trying to detain me. But I was already out of the 
door, down the stairs, out of the house and yard, and off to 
the inn ; in an instant my horse was saddled, ?md I rushed 
off mad with vexation, galloping towards Drusenheim, then 
through it, and on beyond. 

As I now thought myself safe, I rode more slowly, and 
then began to feel how infinitely against my will it was to 
go away. But I resigned myself to my fate, called up the 
memory of last night's walk with perfect calm, and cherished 
the secret hope of seeing her soon again. But this quiet 
resignation soon changed into impatience again: I now 
determined to ride rapidly to the town, change my dress, 
and take a good, fresh horse, for then, so my passion led 
me to believe, I could at all events return by dinner-time, 
or, which was more probable, by dessert, or even towards 
evening, and entreat my forgiveness. 

I was just about to put spurs to my horse to execute this 
plan, when another, and, as seemed to me, a very happy 
idea passed through my mind. In the inn at Drusenheim, 
the day before, I had noticed a son of the landlord very 
neatly dressed, and had seen him again early this morning, 
busy with his farm-work, as he greeted me from his court- 
yard. He was of my figure, and had for the moment even 
reminded me of myself. I waited for no second thoughts. 
I had hardly turned my horse round, when I was back in 
Drusenheim ; I took him to the stables, and in a few words 
put my proposal before the fellow, namely, that he should 
lend me his clothes, as I had a merry jest on hand at 
Sesenheim. Before I had finished my sentence he agreed 
with enthusiasm, delighted that I should wish to make some 
sport for the young ladies ; they were, he said, such delight- 
ful girls, especially Miss Riekchen,* and the parents, too,'* 
liked things to go merrily and brightly at all times. 
He considered me attentively, and as from my appearance 
he might well take me for a poor starveling, he said, " If 
you want to get into favour, this is the right way." In the 
meanwhile we had been getting on fast with our change of 
dress, though, as a matter of fact, he was making a poor 

* Abbreviation for Frederica. — Trans. 



1770] THE EXCHANGE OF CLOTHES 393 

bargain in trusting his holiday clothes to me on the strength 
of mine; but he was honest-hearted^^and, moreover, had 
my horse in his stable. I was soon sufficiently presentable, 
put on a consequential air, while my friend apparently 
gazed on his counterpart with complacency. "Done, Sir 
Brother!" said he, giving me his hand, which I shook 
heartily, " don't come too near my girl ; she might make a 
mistake ! " 

My hair, now restored to its full growth, he easily parted 
in imitation of his, and looking at him, several times it 
occurred to me that it would be a good jest to blacken 
my eyebrows with a burnt cork, and bring them nearer 
together in imitation of his, in order to make myself 
externally a ^^ Rdzel^'^ to correspond to the riddle of 
my behaviour. "Now, have you no business at the 
parsonage," I said, as he. handed me his be-ribboned hat, 
" so that I might announce myself there quite naturally ? " 
" Certainly," he replied, " but then you will have to wait two 
hours. A woman has been confined in our house ; I will offer 
to carry the cake to the parson's wife,t and you can take it 
over. Pride must pay its penalty, and so must a joke." I 
resolved to wait, but these two hours seemed unending, and 
I was dying of impatience when the third hour had come 
and gone before the cake came out of the oven. At last I 
got it quite hot, and hastened away with my credentials, the 
sun shining brightly on me, and escorted some way by my 
counterpart, who promised to come after me in the evening 
and bring me my clothes. But this I firmly declined, and 
stipulated that I should bring his garments back myself. 

I had not ridden far with my present, which I carried in 
a neatly-knotted napkin, when, in the distance, I saw my 
friend coming towards me with the two ladies. My heart 
beat more uneasily than it should have done under such a 
coat. I stood still, took breath, and tried to consider how 
I should begin; and now I first remarked that the dis-- 
position of the ground was very much in my favour; for 
they were walking on the other side of the brook, and this, 
together with the strips of meadow through which it ran, 

*• There is here a pun on Rdtsel (riddle) and Razel, see p. 320. 
* t The general custom of the country villages in Protestant Germany 
on such interesting occasions. — American Note, 



394 POETRY AND TRUTH [part ii. book x 

kept the two footpaths pretty far apart. When they were 
just opposite to me, Frederica, who had already seen me a 
long way off, cried, "George, what are you bringing 
there ? " I had enough sense to take off my hat and cover 
my face with it, while I held the cake in its napkin well up 
in front of me. " A christening cake ! " she cried ; " how is 
your sister?" ** Quite well," * said I, trying to talk in a 
strange dialect, if not exactly in Alsatian. '* Take it to the 
house ! " said the elder sister, " and if you do not find my 
mother, give it to the maid ; but wait for us, we shall soon 
be back, — do you hear ? " I hurried on in the happy hope 
that, as the beginning had been so lucky, all the rest would 
follow suit, and soon reached the parsonage. There was no 
one to be found in house or kitchen ; not wanting to disturb 
the old gentleman, whom I supposed busy in the study, I 
sat down on the bench before the door, the cake beside me, 
and covered my face with my hat. 

I can rarely remember feeling a pleasanter sensation. 
To sit once more on this threshold, which, a short time 
before, I had crossed stumbling in despair ; to have already 
seen her once more, to have heard her dear voice again 
so soon after my grief had pictured a long seiparation, to be 
expecting her every moment and to await a discovery at 
which my heart throbbed, but which was, in this ambiguous 
case, a discovery without shame ; for this was, to begin with, 
a merrier prank than any of those they had laughed at so 
much yesterday. Love and necessity are the best of masters ; 
they were both acting in concert here, and their pupil was 
not unworthy of them. 

But the maid came stepping out of the barn. " Well ! 
did the cakes turn out all right ? " she cried to me ; ^* how 
is your sister ? " " All right," I said, and pointed to the 
cake without looking up. She took up the napkin, mutter- 
ing, " Now, what's the matter with you again to-day ? Has 
- Barbchen f been kind to someone else again ? But you 
should not make us pay the penalty. A pretty couple you 
will make if you carry on so ! " Her loud voice called the 
pastor to the window to ask what was the matter. She 
pointed him out to me; I stood up and turned towards 

* In the original his answer is ** Guet," for ** Gut." — Trans. 
t Diminutive of Barbara. — Trans, 



I770] FREDERIC A*S REST 395 

him ; but still kept my hat over my face. He spoke a few 
kind words to me, and asked me to stop a while, so I 
turned towards the garden, and was just going in, when the 
pastor's wife called to me as she went through the yard 
gate. I availed myself of the fact tiiat the sun was shining 
straight in my eyes to keep on sheltering behind my hat, 
and gave her a loutish scrape ; but she passed on into the 
house, telling me not to go before I had eaten something. 
I now walked up and down the garden; everything had 
hitherto been most successful, yet I breathed hard and fast 
as I realized that the young people must soon be back again. 
But the mother came up to me most unexpectedly, and was 
just going to ask me a question, when she looked me in the 
face, and seeing what I could conceal no longer, the words 
stuck in her throat. " I look for George," she said, after a 
pause, " and whom do I find ? Is it you, young gentleman ? 
How many shapes have you, then ? " " In earnest only 
one," I replied ; " in jest as many as you like." " I will 
not spoil the jest," she smiled ; " go out behind the garden 
into the meadow until it strikes twelve, then come back, 
when you will find I have started the fun." I did as she 
tc^d me ; but as I was going along the meadows, beyond 
the hedges of the village gardens,, some country people 
came towards me on the footpath, and put me in some 
embarrassment. I turned aside into a little wood, on the 
top of a hill near by, intending to hide myself there till the 
appointed time. Yet what was my astonishment when I 
entered it ; for there before me was a neat little clearing, 
with benches, each of which afforded a charming view of 
the countryside. First the village and the steeple, then 
Drusenheim, and behind it the woody islands of the Rhine ; 
in the opposite direction the Vosges mountains, and last the 
Strasburg minster. All these shining pictures were set in 
leafy frames, so that it would be hard to imagine anything 
brighter or more delightful. I sat down on one of the 
benches, and noticed on the largest tree an oblong little 
board with the inscription, " Frederica's Rest." It never 
occurred to me that I might have come to disturb this rest ; 
for a budding passion has this lovely characteristic, that, 
as it is unconscious of its origin, so it has no conception 
of an end, and, being itself full of joy and gladness, can 



396 POETRY AND TRUTH [part ii. book x 

have no presentiment that it may also be the cause of 
grief. 

I had scarcely had time to look about me and was losing 
myself in sweet reveries, when I heard somebody coming ; 
it was Frederica herself. "George, what are you doing 
here ? " she cried from a distance. " Not George ! " I cried, 
running towards her, *^ but one who craves forgiveness of 
you a thousand times." She looked at me in astonishment, 
but soon collected herself, and said, fetching a deep breath, 
"You horrid man, how you frighten me!" "The first 
disguise has led me into a second," I exclaimed; *^the 
former would have been unpardonable had I had any idea 
whom I was going to see ; but this one you will certainly 
forgive, for it is the garb of those whom you always treat 
with kindness." Her pale cheeks had flushed a lovely rosy 
red. " You shall not be worse off than George, at any rate ! 
But let us sit down ! I confess the fright you gave me has 
made me shaky." I sat down beside her, in great agitation. 
" We know everything already, as far as what happened this 
morning, from your friend," she said, " now tell me the rest." 
She did not need to ask me twice, for I described to her my 
horror at the figure I cut yesterday, and my rushing from 
the house, so comically, that she burst into hearty, rippling 
laughter ; then I went on to what followed, with all modesty 
indeed, yet with sufficient passion for my words to pass for 
a declaration of love under the guise of a story. At last 
I sealed my joy at finding her again, by a kiss upon her 
hand, which she let lie in mine. If she had provided 
all the conversation during last night's moonlight walk, I 
now, on my part, richly repaid the debt. The pleasure of 
seeing her again, and being able to say to her all that I had 
kept back yesterday, was so great that, in my eloquence, I 
did not notice how thoughtful and silent she had grown. 
She drew several deep breaths, and over and over again I 
begged her pardon for the fright I had given her. How 
long we may have sat there, I have no idea ; but suddenly 
we heard some one call " Riekchen, Riekchen." It was her 
sister's voice. " Now we shall have sport," she said, restored 
to perfect cheerfulness ; " she is coming on my side," she 
added, bending so as to half conceal me ; " turn away, so 
that she may not recognize you at once." The sister came 



I770] GOETHE'S DISGUISE 397 

towards us, but not alone ; Weyland was with her, and both, 
when they saw us, stood still, as if petrified. 

The sight of flames bursting fiercely from a peaceful 
roof. Of the meeting of a monster whose deformity is at the 
same time revolting and terrifying, would not strike us with 
such fierce horror as that which seizes us when, unexpectedly, 
we see with our own eyes what we should have believed 
morally impossible. " How is this ? " cried the elder, with 
all the haste of one in terror. "How is this? you and 
George, hand-in-hand ! What am I to understand by this ? " 
" Dear sister," Frederica hesitatingly replied, " poor fellow, — 
he is begging something of me ; he has something to beg of 
you too, but you must forgive him beforehand." " I do 

not understand — I cannot understand " said her sister, 

shaking her head and looking at Weyland, who, with his 
usual calm, stood looking on in silence. Frederica rose and 
drew me after her. " No hesitating ! " she cried, " but 
pardon given as soon as asked 1 " " Now do ! " I said, 
stepping nearer to her ; " I have need of pardon ! " She 
drew back with a loud shriek, and covered with blushes ; 
then she threw herself on the grass, laughing immoderately, 
and as though she would never stop. Weyland smiled, well 
pleased. " You are a splendid fellow," he said, and shook 
me by the hand. He was not usually demonstrative, but 
his handshake had something hearty and enlivening about 
it ; yet he was sparing of this also. 

When we had recovered and collected ourselves a little, 
we set out to return to the village. On the way I learned 
how this singular meeting had taken place. Frederica had 
separated from the other two to rest in her little nook for a 
moment before dinner, and when the other two returned to 
the house, the mother had sent them to call Frederica as 
quickly as possible, because dinner was ready. 

The elder sister showed the most extravagant delight, 
and when she learned that the mother had already dis- 
covered the secret, she exclaimed, " Now we have still to 
play the trick on my father, my brother, the man-servant, 
and the maid." When we reached the garden-hedge, 
Frederica insisted upon going first into the house with my 
friend. The maid was busy in the kitchen-garden, and 
Olivia (for so the elder sister shall be called in these pagep^ 



39^ POETRV AND TRUTH [part ii. book x 

called out to her, " Stop ; I have something to tell you ! " 
She left me standing by the hedge, and went to the maid. 
I saw they were speaking very earnestly. Olivia pretended 
to her that George had quarrelled with Barbara, and was 
now anxious to marry her. The girl was by no means 
displeased ; I was now called up, and was to confirm what 
had been said. The pretty, plump lass cast down her eyes, 
and kept them so until I had got quite close to her. But 
when, suddenly, she saw a strange face^ she too gave vent 
to a loud scream and ran away. Olivia bade me run after 
her and hold her fast, so that she should not get into the 
house and make a noise ; while she herself meant to go in 
and see what her father was doing. On the way Olivia 
met the servant-boy, who was in love with the maid; in 
the mean time I had hurried after the girl, and held her 
fast. " Just think ! what good luck ! " cried Olivia ; " it*s 
all over with Barbara, and George is to marry Liese." " I 
have expected that long enough," said the good fellow, and 
stood nursing his vexation. 

I had given the maid to understand that all we had to 
do was to deceive the father. We went up to the lad, who 
turned and tried to get away ; but Liese brought him back, 
and he, too, when undeceived, gave vent to the most extra- 
ordinary contortions. We went together to the house. The 
table was laid, and the father already in the room. Olivia, 
keeping me behind her, stepped to the threshold, and said, 
" Father, have you any objection to George's dining with 
us to-day? but you must let him keep his hat on." "Oh, 
very well ! " said the old gentleman, " but why such an 
unusual thing? Has he hurt himself?" She dragged me 
forward as I was with my hat on. " No ! " she said, leading 
me into the room, ** but he has a bird-cage under it, and 
the birds might fly out and make a dreadful fuss ; for they 
are all loose." The father was amused at the joke, without 
precisely knowing what it meant. This instant she took 
off my hat, scraped and bowed and made me do the same. 
The old man looked at me and recognized me, but without 
losing his clerical self-possession. " Fie, fie, Sir Candidate ! " 
he exclaimed, raising a threatening finger at me; "you 
have changed saddles. very quickly, and in the course of a 
night I have lostan assistant, who only yesterday promised 



I770] GOETHE'S DISGUISE 399 

me so faithfully that he would often take my pulpit for me 
on week-days." He then laughed heartily, bade me wel- 
come, and we sat down to table. Moses came in much 
later ; for, being the youngest and most spoilt, he had got 
into the habit of not hearing the dinner-bell. Besides, he 
took little notice of the company, not even when he con- 
tradicted them. To make more sure of him, they had put 
me, not between the sisters, but at the end of the table, 
where George often used to sit. As he came in at the door 
behind me, he gave me a hearty clap on the shoulder, and 
said, " Good appetite, George ! " " Many thanks, squire ! " 
I replied. The strange voice and the strange face startled 
him. "Well, don't you think," cried Olivia, "that he 
looks very like his brother ? " " Yes, from behind," replied 
Moses, who managed to recover his composure immedi- 
ately, "everyone does." He did not look at me again, 
but gave himself up with zeal to devouring the courses, 
to make up for lost time. Then he was pleased to go out, 
as he often did, and busied himself in the yard or garden. 
At dessert the real George came in, and helped to make 
matters still more lively. They began to banter him on 
his jealousy, and blamed him for making another rival of 
me; but he was modest and clever enough to get out of 
his difficulties, and, in a half- confused manner, succeeded 
in mixing up himself, his sweetheart, his counterpart, and 
the young ladies with each other, to such a degree, that at 
last nobody could tell about whom he was talking, and 
they were only too glad to leave him to consume a glass of 
wine and a bit of his own cake in peace. 

At table there was some talk of going for a walk ; but 
the suggestion did not appeal much to me in my peasant's 
clothes. However, the ladies, early that very morning, 
when they learned who had run away in such a desperate 
hurry, had remembered that a fine hunting-coat belonging 
to a cousin of theirs, who sometimes wore it when he was 
visiting there, was hanging in the clothes-press. But I 
declined it, joking to all appearance, yet in reality from a 
feeling of vanity, not wishing to spoil, by impersonating the 
cousin, the good impression I had made as the peasant. 
The father had gone to take his afternoon-nap ; the mother, 
as usual, was busy with her housekeeping. But my friend 



40O POETRY AND TRUTH [part ii. book x 

proposed that I should tell them some story, and I immedi- 
ately consented. We went into a spacious arbour, and I 
gave them a tale which I have since worked out in writing 
under the title of The New Melusina* It bears about the 
same relation to The New Paris as the youth bears to the 
boy, and I would insert it here, were I not afraid of injuring, 
by odd whims of fancy, the atmosphere of rural truth and 
simplicity with which we were then so pleasantly surrounded. 
I will merely say that I succeeded in gaining the true re- 
ward of all such inventors and narrators, which is to awaken 
curiosity, to fix the attention, to provoke over-hasty solutions 
of impenetrable riddles, to baffle expectations, to bewilder 
by heaping wonder upon wonder, to arouse sympathy and 
fear, to cause suspense, to stir and at the same time satisfy 
the feelings by an ingenious transition from apparent earnest 
to merry jest, and finally to leave the imagination materials for 
fresh conceptions, and the mind subjects for further thought. 

Should anyone hereafter read this tale in print, and 
doubt whether it could have produced such an eflfect, let 
him remember that, properly speaking, man is only called 
upon to produce an impression in the present. Writing is 
an abuse of language, reading to oneself is a pitiful sub- 
stitute for speech. Man influences his fellows as much as 
he can by his personality, and youth responds most readily 
to youth, and it is here we find the purest influences. It 
is these which quicken the world, and will not let it perish 
either morally or physically. I had inherited from my 
father a certain didactic readiness of speech; from my 
mother the faculty of representing, clearly and forcibly, 
everything that the imagination can produce or grasp, of 
giving freshness to known stories, of inventing and relating 
others, and even of inventing fresh incidents in the course 
of my narrative. My fathe^^s gift was for' the most part 
calculated to annoy my company; for who likes to listen 
to the opinions and sentimet^s of another, especially a 
youth, whose judgment, from defective experience, always 
seems inadequate? My motliier, on the contrary, had 
thoroughly equipped me for social intercourse. The baldest 
tale has in itself a charm for the imagination, and the under- 
standing is grateful for the most meJ^gre substance. 

* This is introduced in Wilhelm Meiste^^ Wanderjahre. — Trans. 

\ 



I770] THE **NEW MELUSINA" 4OI ' 

By such narratives, which cost me nothing, I made my- 
self beloved by children, excited and delighted my young 
friends, and attracted the attention of older persons. But 
in society, such as we commonly find it, I was soon obliged 
to stop these practices, and have thereby lost only too much 
of the enjoyment of life, and of scope for the develop- 
ment of my mental faculties. Nevertheless, both these in- 
herited gifts accompanied me through life, united with a 
third, the necessity, that is, of expressing myself by similes 
and figures of speech. Because of these peculiarities, which 
Doctor Gall discovered in me by his acute and ingenious 
theories, he assured me that I was, properly speaking, born 
to be a popular orator. I was not a little alarmed at this 
disclosure; for had it been well founded, I should have 
been obliged to find some other, and therefore mistaken, 
vocation, since our nation affords no scope for oratory. 



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